


Bittersweet Parting

by nightmares06



Series: Brothers Apart [14]
Category: Supernatural, The Borrowers - All Media Types
Genre: Angel of the Lord, Bobby Singer's House, Borrower Sam, Borrowers - Freeform, Bree - Freeform, Briella Watch, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Demon, Family, G/T, Gen, Height difference, Road Trip, Rufus Turner's Cabin, Size Difference, Size Kink, The Impala - Freeform, Tiny sam, Walt Watch, Witch - Freeform, big dean, borrower, g/t writing, giant tiny - Freeform, kara - Freeform, trap, yellow-eyes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-03-12 01:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13537155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmares06/pseuds/nightmares06
Summary: After a forced relocation fromTrails West, new information surfaces about the witch the brothers have sought for years, throwing them all into a confrontation they weren't prepared for, and could never have expected.





	1. A Family Road Trip to Sioux Falls

Walt watched the scenery pass by outside, his face expressionless.  
  
The ride in the Impala was smooth and less eventful than he thought possible. All Walt’s life, he’d lived in one building. His family raised him in a small B&B that was later turned into the  _Trails West_. He’d gone on to raise his own family there, watching his daughter grow up happy and content. Everything he’d done, he’d done for her and her mother, Mallory.  
  
Life was harsh in the motel. Walt had almost been taken away when he was just a teenager. He’d spent hours staring at the door, watching and waiting for his moment to come. All it would take was one human. They could do whatever they wanted to him. Take him away, kill him, make him into a  _pet._  He’d spent so many hours afraid, thinking he’d never see his new wife again. Her blue eyes, always warm and loving even when she argued with him, were always in his thoughts.  
  
Even at a time like this.  
  
Walt was hesitant as he shifted position. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of his seat, or indeed, their current circumstances. Riding in the Impala wasn’t something he’d ever expected to do. There was no reason for him or anyone else their size (with the notable exception of Sam) to leave their home. It was their world. They got all their food and supplies from the different areas of the motel and had safe passages that ran throughout the entire area. Walt had helped  _create_  most of those passages, back in his youth.  
  
That motel was no longer safe for the little people that lived in the walls. A hunter by the name of Gordon Walker had found them, tracking the signs and snatching up young Kara and Walt’s daughter Bree. Without Dean Winchester’s help, that would have been the last of them they’d ever seen.  
  
Dean Winchester, the man whose shoulder Walt was sitting on at that very moment.  
  
It hadn’t been his idea. Not in the least. The truth of the matter was, they didn’t want to leave everyone in the massive duffel that Dean had carried into the Impala. Walt’s entire world, his friends and his family and all the possessions they had the time to grab, in one bag slung casually over the shoulder of a man who stood over six feet tall. Dean didn’t even look winded as he gently shrugged the strap off and placed the bag in the footwell of the passenger side seat. Down there, if he hit the brakes, they wouldn’t have to worry about falling off. There were a few of Dean’s shirts along the sides of the duffel bag, padding the walls to keep the small people safe.  
  
The sight of how careful Dean was with the bag reassured Walt. This was the same way the hunter had brought the others with him the last time they’d road tripped cross-country.  
  
Almost two dozen people were inside right now, a huge jump up from Dean’s last transport of Kara, Christian, Mikael and Bree. Every person willing to leave  _Trails West_ behind, escaping the clutches of the hunter that was on their tail. Dean wouldn’t kill the man in cold blood, so he’d tied him up to give them a head start on escaping. Some of the little people had dug their heels in and refused to leave, but most had come. It was difficult to convince people to willingly place themselves into the care of a human who looked like Dean.  
  
He was a good man, regardless of how intense he became, and regardless of his size. Walt knew they could trust him with their lives, but telling others that didn’t always go the way he planned.  
  
Those who’d remained in the motel would have to bunker down. Gordon might figure out what Dean had done, taking the majority of the little people with him, but he might suspect that not all would leave. Walt said a prayer under his breath, much like he’d seen humans do from time to time in the motel, though he himself followed no faith.  
  
Maybe the humans were onto something.  
  
Walt was to remain out with Dean and Sam to make sure that care was taken with the bag, but from what Walt had seen so far, he doubted they needed him to be a chaperone. It was only to reassure the others that he was looking out for them, especially those who had never met Dean before and were wary of trusting a human.  
  
“You holding up okay?” came a question from the side, and Walt glanced over to meet Sam’s eyes.  
  
Never in a million years had Walt ever thought he’d be sitting on a massive human’s shoulder next to Sam. No matter how many times he’d watched Sam do it, as casually as though he was sitting on his old bed.  
  
Walt shifted again, his entire body tense. A look upwards showed Dean’s eyes trained on the road ahead, focused on the driving. From the look on his face, he hadn’t noticed Walt’s movements. There were slight shifts in their perch as they sat there, though neither would complain. Dean was controlling a vehicle that roared down the highway, larger than any single thing Walt had ever seen before in his life. Because of him, they could cross unimaginable distances to a safe home. Complaining about the way the man’s arms shifted under them while he turned the wheel-- a wheel Walt could swear was bigger than his old house-- would be downright ungrateful.  
  
“I’m… fine,” he said, finally answering Sam’s question. There was more hesitation in his voice than ever before.   
  
Sam didn’t look quite like he believed the answer. He scooted an inch over, away from Dean’s neck and closer to where Walt was sitting. Walt would never stop being shocked at how much  _room_  there was for them on Dean’s shoulder. It sloped downwards at an angle, but there were plenty of handholds to cling to in the thick fabric humans favored, their skin less sensitive than Walt or Sam’s would be.  
  
Putting a hand on Walt’s shoulder, Sam dropped his voice down quiet enough that it wouldn’t be picked up by Dean. His ear was only a few inches up from where they were sitting, meaning he could hear every word they said if they spoke at a normal volume. Hell, for all Walt knew, he could hear them whispering and just choose not to react to it. This human was one of a kind, spending over a year and a half with someone who fit in his hand. Dean was used to listening to soft voices.  
  
“You know he doesn’t mind, right?” Sam asked in a hush. “Really. I’ve sat here pretty much every day since I left.”  
  
Walt couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering to Dean’s again. Dean didn’t even twitch at Sam’s words. Maybe he really couldn’t hear them like this.  
  
“It’s just…” Walt kept his voice just as soft as Sam. “You’re  _used_  to this. And him. How?”  
  
Sam grinned and couldn’t stop a slight laugh at that. “We make our own normal, Dad. If I can’t ride shotgun like a regular human can, I’ll do it here.”  
  
That didn’t answer Walt’s question, and he stared blankly at Sam, trying to work through what ‘ride shotgun’ meant. Humans had some strange sayings. He might have to ask Bree about it later if he remembered. She had a lot of insight with humans after all her years living with that Beth girl, though Walt was uncomfortable with how  _comfortable_  she could be with being in hands. Years of having humans pick her up whenever they wanted left her innured to the effect it had on the rest of them. She stood out among his people like a beacon, though it had never stopped Kara, Krissy or Sean from becoming her best friends.  
  
Another shift from Dean caught Walt’s attention before he could respond. His hands shot out and latched onto the thick shirt fabric he was sitting on, his fingers threading through to get some kind of grip.  
  
Sam didn’t show any sign of alarm, simply swaying in time with Dean’s movements.  
  
Dean glanced to the side to see where they were sitting, the visible corner of his mouth quirking up into a grin, familiar even from that angle. “Found us some grub,” he said, sounding proud. “You two should get some cover.”  
  
Walt jolted at the sound of the gruff, rumbling voice. It was the first time Dean had spoken up in an hour. It was easy to forget exactly how the vibrations alone could shake them right to the bone. And his voice was softer than most humans, prepared to talk to people that fit in his hand after so long spent with Sam.  
  
The landscape outside of the car was changing too fast for Walt to understand where they were. He could see other cars flashing by in a rainbow of colors. Red, blue, a purple and several silvers, all crawling down the other side of the road. The Impala was behind a large blue van, far enough back that any casual look into the black and chrome muscle car wouldn’t give away Sam and Walt’s existence. Only after staring out for a minute did Walt realize that Dean was turning off the road, towards a building with a bright red roof.  
  
That was all he made out before Sam’s hand tugged at his sleeve. “Don’t,” Sam said, halting his downward climb before it started. “That’s too far, you can stay up here.”  
  
Walt went to open his mouth and demand exactly how they were to do that when Dean himself had said to get undercover, but before he could utter a word Sam pulled him as close to Dean’s neck as they could get. The curved surface formed a wall of skin that blocked them from sight of the building, and Walt hunkered down as he heard Dean rolling down his window. Their perch shifted and juddered with every movement, and by the time Dean was done, Walt was plastered to his neck as much as Sam.  
  
“Next time, the seat,” he shot back at Sam, lowering his voice.  
  
Sam smirked. “I dunno,” he said lightly. “It’s not the best perspective from down there.”  
  
Walt’s breath caught in his throat, reminded again of how  _large_  Dean was, and trying to imagine staring up at him from down on the seat. The man was tall next to other humans, a behemoth to people like them.  
  
That was when Dean’s voice interrupted his musings, drowning out anything else Sam might have said. Gone was any attempt to keep his voice down, since he needed to talk to other humans now and call out his order loud enough to be heard. Walt curled further inwards. Too much. This was too much at once.  
  
“Hey,” Dean called out, answering a static-filled voice that was talking to him, “I’ll take a bacon double cheeseburger, a side salad and a fruit cup. Do you have bottled water?”  
  
Such an odd order for a man who'd once subsisted on nothing more than greasy sandwiches and beer. Pizza and chinese food-- anything that was quick to grab. Now he ordered salads regularly (Sam refused to speak to him if he didn’t), fruit when he was around others Sam’s size (Dean might not eat fruit himself regularly, but even he recognized the good fresh foods would do for them after years of scraps), and water instead of soda to keep it easy on small stomachs. The carbonation could actually hurt if they drank too fast.  
  
After getting an affirmative in a staticky reply from the black speaker out the window, Dean pulled the car around. He couldn't help but notice Sam and Walt had almost become one tiny lump on his shoulder. He felt bad that they had to hide like this, but it couldn’t be helped. So long as he had a car full of vulnerable passengers, he wasn’t going to leave the car to order. This was going to be a straight ride to Bobby’s, and thank God it was a day trip. Taking a week long drive like he’d done for some cases would be more than he wanted to put his passengers through. They were having enough trouble during their first car ride, stuck in a duffel bag the size of a school auditorium. Dean hadn’t heard a sound from them the entire trip.  
  
“Thanks,” Dean told the girl at the pick-up window as he took the food from her. He put the paper bag down on the leather bench seat, feeling Sam and Walt shift on his shoulder. They kept away from where it sloped down, trying to stay steady as he moved. It was just as weird for Dean to have two people sitting there instead of one, and one of them was Sam’s  _adopted father._  The man Dean had to thank for his little brother surviving his initial curse. Without Walt, neither brother would be alive by now (considering the number of times Sam had saved Dean’s ass since being reunited).  
  
It was easy to tell the difference between Walt and Sam without having to look at them (a good thing with how close to his neck they both were; he’d just end up knocking them off if he tried). Sam had one arm casually braced against Dean’s neck, his posture relaxed and shifting  _with_  Dean. Walt, on the other hand, was stiff and froze constantly. He wasn’t completely comfortable with the arrangement, and Dean doubted the period of time it took for them to drive from  _Trails West_  to Bobby’s would be enough for him to thaw.  
  
At least now he had something to offer his passengers. “Hope everyone’s hungry,” he said, lowering his gruff voice for their benefit. He gave the girl at the window a wave and drove around the building. He didn’t stop until he found a forgotten corner of the parking lot and parked the Impala under the shade of a sprawling oak that was left to grow as it pleased.  
  
An amused thought struck Dean that Bowman would point out that trees should  _always_  be left on their own by humans.  
  
Sam took Dean’s offered hand when he raised it, and Walt joined him hesitantly. Dean gave them a hopeful grin as he lowered them down to the passenger side seat, far enough away from himself to give them space. His own appetite was gone, destroyed by the knowledge that a hunter like himself had threatened the lives of all the people in his car, and they hadn’t been able to save everyone. They could only hope that Gordon never found the others that had stayed at the motel. Dean pulled out the sandwich and opened up the salad and fruit, letting Sam and Walt gather what they wanted to share with the others.  
  
“I know you’d rather get your own food,” Dean said, apology on his face for their forced circumstances, “but I’m afraid there’s not much to find in the car. Once we get to Bobby’s you won’t have to ‘rely’ on me.” A bit of distaste colored ‘rely' for him, knowing they had a hard time accepting food from him simply because he was human, family or not.  
  
Walt looked up, and even from a distance Dean could see those sharp blue eyes. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us,” he said formally, one hand on the ridged plastic barrier of the fruit cup. “Don’t doubt yourself or what you’re doing.”  
  
Dean smiled haltingly, taking heart from Walt’s stern words. Their differences chafed at the hunter, forever wondering if there would be a point they’d refuse his help completely. Seeing Walt’s conviction helped dispel some of that fear. Both of them only wanted the best for the others.  
  
The duffel bag on the floor was left open, one side slumped down while the other side remained propped up against the seat. No one was visible from Dean’s line of sight, so he could only watch Sam and Walt to know what was going on.  
  
Both men filled their arms, and Sam stashed what he could in his duffel bag before they both made their way over to the side. Sam’s hook fit snug on the side of the seatbelt, and they scaled down one at a time. The hush of voices was all Dean could make out, and only the sound of his brother’s voice was clear to him, used to listening close to pick it out against the ambient sounds of the world. He settled against the door of the Impala with a growing smile, glad to see the others being taken care of.  
  
They deserved it after what they’d gone through.


	2. Between a Rock and a Hard Spot

Lunch took half an hour, and Dean spent most of that time patiently scanning the world outside the Impala. He couldn’t stomach the thought of food, so he fiddled with the paper bag the sandwich had come from, hoping maybe Sam would think he’d eaten a second sandwich. Maybe he’d been too distracted to listen to Dean order, or--  
  
“Really?”  
  
Dean lost all hope of sliding this one past Sam when he heard the disapproving tone in the soft voice down on the seat. He turned his eyes down to where Sam was standing with his arms crossed, right next to the parted foil wrapper of the sandwich. Clearly, he knew Dean had never ordered more food. Not that Dean had held out  _much_  hope of slipping it by Sam. He never could.  
  
With a wan smile, Dean gave it his best shot. “I just figured you might want seconds,” he said in a half-hearted protest, waving the food off.  
  
Sam huffed impatiently, and Dean could see the thin fishing line behind Sam waver in place as Walt climbed up.  _Great._  Now he’d have an audience to Sam’s scolds.  
  
 _As though they can’t_ already _hear us_ , he groused inwardly.  
  
“Dean, you  _need_  to eat,” Sam insisted, stepping towards Dean. His eyes seemed bigger than before, full of emotion Dean couldn’t decipher. “You’re the only person that can drive the car. What are we supposed to do if you work yourself into the ground or faint? You know I  _want_  to help, but I can’t. I’m not  _tall_  enough.”  
  
There was absolutely no defense against that argument. As Walt plucked up the hook from where it was anchored, Dean practically stuck out his lip in a pout. “Just not hungry after… everything,” he muttered, casting his eyes at the footwell where the gas pedal lay just out of sight in the darkness.  
  
Sam’s lips thinned in understanding, but he didn’t relent. “You don’t have to finish it,” he said, pressing the issue. “You haven’t eaten since we arrived in town. Or this morning, or last night. You  _need_  your strength.”  
  
Dean huffed. “ _Fine,_ ” he grumbled, his resistance crumbling. Sam’s words struck too close to home. Dean was the only line of defense they  _had_  if Gordon managed to catch up to them before they got to safety. He needed to be at the top of his game.  
  
Reaching past Sam, Dean scooped the remains of the sandwich up and held it in front of his face. The thought that the food in his hands was bigger than Sam and Walt together haunted him, hating how he must look to everyone else in the car when he was eating. It normally didn’t bother him so much when he was traveling with Sam, but the last few days had served as a harsh reminder to how dangerous humans could really be to the smaller folk.  
  
It took work, but Dean forced those thought from his mind and took a bite. Instant flavor flooded his mouth, the lettuce, bacon and tomato combining with the cheeseburger to create one of his favorite sandwiches. Some of his appetite returned, and the second bite came easier.  
  
By the time Dean popped the last bit of cheeseburger into his mouth, Sam and Walt were sitting back on his shoulder, and Sam patted his neck reassuringly. “I knew you could do it,” he said fondly to his older brother. “Now how ‘bout we get this show on the road?”  
  
Dean’s answer came in the form of the key being shoved into the ignition, and the car roaring to life.  
  
With that, the road trip resumed.  
  


* * *

  
The sun threw golden rays across the landscape as Dean reached his final destination. The future home of all the people of  _Trails West._  
  
Bobby Singer’s house.  
  
There was no place Dean knew that would be safer to people that stood under half a foot in height. Not only did Bobby Singer, the owner of the house, know about the smaller folk, he was also a hunter and ready to defend them. Bobby was perfectly willing to scold Dean for the way he’d found Sam, and was continually shocked by how  _normal_  the brothers managed to make interactions.  
  
Though the small folk who’d once lived in his house had vacated the premises upon discovering he was a hunter, he was also on good terms with them after Sam had a run in with their leader and his daughter, incited by Rumsfeld. The helpful guard dog of the junkyard had decided to take Sam to people like himself, nudging the younger brother towards the burrow and a discovery Sam had never expected.  
  
Arthur Harbor had extended an invitation during that encounter, one that would always remain open.   
  
 _If ever you run into another person like us that is in need of help, or has lost their home, our doors are always open. We would never turn them away._  
  
The time had come to take them up on that offer.  
  
A gentle breeze wafted over the field behind the junkyard, bending the tall stalks of grass that ran rampant throughout the area. Some clung to life between the long lines of cars, ever darkening shadows stretching towards Bobby’s house and giving the scene an eerie look as Dean parked out in front of the porch.  
  
Rumsfeld perked up as he heard the familiar engine purr, pulling himself to his feet and bounding over to the car. On Dean’s shoulder, Walt withdrew in surprise, flattening against Dean’s neck. “W-what’s  _that?_  ” he blurted out.  
  
With a wince, Sam patted his shoulder. “Guess we shoulda warned you,” he said ruefully. “Rumsfeld’s the guard dog. He’s the one who helped me find where the others live.”  
  
“The pup’s harmless,” Dean said dismissively.  
  
“Harmless to  _us,_ ” Sam snarked back with a jab of his elbow. “I’m pretty sure he’ll gladly run you off the property if we ask him.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes as he pushed open the door, knowing Sam was talking from previous experience. Without Sam standing up for him, Dean very well might have been chased off more than once during their first visit back to the property in years, Bobby with him, for the audacity of knowing Sam.  
  
Rumsfeld was instantly in his lap, sniffing around the hunter in search of Sam’s scent. In seconds he’d found Sam and nosed the smaller hunter on Dean’s shoulder. Sam laughed, pushing the nose away from him. Rumsfeld let him, quirking his chocolate eyes at Walt before backing off from Dean. “See? Harmless.”  
  
“Riiiight,” Walt said slowly, pulling away from Dean’s neck once Rumsfeld was clear. “I… don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”  
  
“The crazy’s only just begun,” Dean muttered under his breath, and received an instant jab in the neck from Sam for his troubles.  
  


* * *

  
After gathering the duffel bag up from the floor of the passenger side of the car, Dean listened to a short discussion between Walt and the others. He kept his opinions to himself. They had the chance to decide their own fate here, and he wasn’t going to interfere.  
  
He was just a passive part of the conversation by way of Sam and Walt standing on his hand while they talked out the options with the others.  
  
A final consensus was reached. Walt informed Dean, as seriously as he ever was and as though Dean hadn’t heard the entire conversation, that he would come with the brothers to assess this ‘Bobby Singer.’ The others would wait for the time being.  
  
A cooling night meant the car was a safe place to leave a duffel full of people. Once Dean cracked the windows and made sure that everyone knew the escape route through Sam’s panic room, he slammed the door of the car shut, staring down at his reflection in the glossy black finish. From where he stood, the reflections of Sam and Walt merged with his own, making them impossible to make out. Like they weren’t even there.  
  
Yet Dean could feel their weight, and every shift they made as they kept balance with his movements. His slightest action could knock them off his shoulder, but they held on expertly. Sam had commented offhand once that the closest thing he could compare it to was sailing on the ocean. Once he adjusted to the movement of the waves, he had no problem staying in place.  
  
“Everyone set?” he asked, his deep voice quieted by over a year of practice interacting with Sam.  
  
“Ready and waiting,” came the soft reply from his shoulder, Sam’s hand hitting against Dean’s neck. “Get a move on.”  
  
Dean just smirked and shook his head, resigned to Sam bossing him around. Sam knew he could get away with more attitude than normal while Dean was around the others. The older hunter practically walked on eggshells to avoid putting anyone off, he wasn’t about to start poking back at Sam and  _definitely_  wouldn’t try any of his regular tricks, like pocketing Sam or shrugging his shoulder while  _Walt_  was there.  
  


* * *

  
After Sam’s assurance, Dean’s swaying stride quickly started up. From his place on Dean’s shoulder, Walt worked hard to keep his balance, unable to predict the movements of the giant man under him like Sam could. He refused to let himself slouch against Dean’s neck.  
  
Not now, not when they were about to meet  _another_  hunter.  
  
Walt refused to let himself show any nerves. His posture was rigid and unbending, both hands twined into the flannel fabric they sat on. Weakness should never be shown to humans, especially not  _hunters._  
  
“Don’t worry,” Sam whispered to the side. “Bobby’s never reached for me once, even when he didn’t know who I was.”  
  
“One of these days,” Walt grit out, his voice louder than Sam’s with strain, “you have  _got_  to tell me these stories of yours.”  
  
Sam patted his shoulder again. “For sure. Once we get everyone settled, we’ll have time.”  
  
Dean stepped up to the door, one huge hand raising up to knock. The hollow sound reverberated around Walt, more powerful than he could manage if he hit the door with all his might.  
  
The sound died off, leaving them alone with the crickets chirping in the grass and Rumsfeld whining from by Dean’s side. The Rottweiler wagged his tail when Walt peered off the edge, prancing in place at the sight of the smaller people sitting up on Dean’s shoulder.  
  
A distant “Come in!” made its way to where they stood, and Sam and Dean both frowned in unison, a silent look passing between them.  
  
“What is it?” Walt asked warily, disliking the way the air filled with tension.  
  
“Might be nothing,” Dean muttered, his voice staying low for them.  
  
“Might be something,” Sam interjected, one hand tight on Dean’s collar while the other rested against his brother’s neck. “Bobby always answers the door. He doesn’t trust people in his house.”  
  
“With good reason.”  
  
By some silent accord the brothers had, Dean pushed open the door and Sam hunkered down, pulling Walt down with him.  
  
For a man who stood near nineteen times Walt’s height, Dean’s footsteps were light and carefully placed to avoid the creak of wood. He knew this house close to as well as he knew the Impala, using that knowledge to stalk towards where the voice had come from.  
  
Dean reached the doorway, and went rigid before Walt could see what he was looking at.  
  
Sam gasped, his hands falling away from Dean and Walt. Walt felt his body fill with tension all over again at the sight of the men in the room.  
  
“Boys,” John Winchester greeted, sitting across the desk from where Bobby sat.  
  
All surprise and shock aside, everyone heard Walt’s voice suddenly cut across the thick silence that padded John’s greeting.  
  
“It’s  _you,_ ” Walt breathed, his eyes locked on Bobby Singer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Brief note** : Here there be dragons, this story _will_ contain angst, and a lot of it. Don't be fooled by the beginning.
> 
> **Next:** February 15 th, 2018
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	3. Safe Haven

No one said a word after Walt spoke. They didn’t even breathe.  
  
The only sound in the room was the scratching from the door that lead outside as Rumsfeld sensed the tension between the people in the house, wanting to get inside to make sure the vulnerable family members he’d adopted were okay with all the full-sized humans around.  
  
Bobby stared at Walt, his brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before comprehension flooded behind his eyes. John looked between Bobby and Walt, none of that understanding finding its way to him.  
  
Dean had to agree with his dad there.  
  
“You two  _know_  each other?” he blurted out, twisting his neck enough to make out the man crouched on his shoulder. “Like,  _know_  each other. Before today?”  
  
Sam’s mouth was open, just as lost. “You didn’t tell me you knew him!”  
  
Flustered, Walt could only wave his hand helplessly through the air. “I didn’t know! I just--”  
  
“We didn’t talk much,” Bobby interrupted, his kindly blue eyes with a warm sparkle in them. “Why don’t you come in, and we can sort things out.”  
  
Dean took a step towards the table and jabbed a thumb over his empty shoulder. “We’ve got people waiting for us out in the car--”  
  
“Then I’ll be sure to make this  _quick,_ ” Bobby said firmly. “And that means no questions.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Right,” he drawled sarcastically.  
  
Bobby gave him a flat look. “I told you before I had run ins with people Sam’s size before,” he reminded Dean. He glanced over at John. “Before I ever ran into a Winchester.”  
  
“Yeah we get that,” Dean spat, annoyed. “But Walt?!”  
  
Walt stiffened at the tone in Dean’s voice. It was one of the first times he’d heard such naked anger in the man’s voice, and being on his shoulder during it wasn’t reassuring.  
  
Sam put a hand on Walt’s shoulder. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you,” he said, knowing exactly where Dean was going with his frustration.  
  
Right back to Sam.  
  
Indeed, Dean didn’t let Bobby get a word in edgewise. “Years, Bobby. We spent  _years_  thinking Sam was dead, and you  _knew_. You always knew people like them were around and you never told us!” The complete betrayal in his voice spoke to the vulnerability in his soul. A vulnerability from years spent alone that was only recently beginning to heal.  
  
Bobby’s blue eyes were ice. “How was I supposed to  _know that?_ ” he responded, aggrieved. “I saved that man’s life back when he was just a  _kid,_  Dean. The  _Trails West_ wasn’t even built yet back then. It was just some forgettable bed and breakfast on the side of the road. I heard of a case in the area and went in, only to find the hunters there were hunting  _kids!_ ”  
  
He had to take a second to compose himself, as though realizing how stiff and frozen in fear Walt was. “ _Kids_ , Dean. Sam wasn’t even  _born_  back then. I got who I could find out of the cages, then sang a song to the hunters that put them on a different trail. The  _wrong_  trail. And that was the end of it.”  
  
Next, Bobby ignored Dean completely in favor of his shoulder. He looked at the two people sitting there, Sam always trusting and Walt stiff and unyielding. “Sam, I never put the motel you were trapped in together with the people I ran into all those years ago, and for that I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “No one ever wanted to leave you. I’m glad you found a family, and I’m proud to meet them.” He turned slightly to look at the other man. “Bobby Singer. Pleased to finally meet you.”  
  
Walt squared his shoulders, meeting Bobby’s clear blue gaze with his own. “The same to you,” he said, his voice wound up from the arguments hanging in the air. “Walt Watch. Sam’s adopted father.”  
  
At that, John Winchester shifted in his seat, but didn’t say anything. As far as Walt was concerned, Sam’s father had no right to say anything. The last time they’d met, he’d scolded John harshly for treating Sam like an invalid after the kid had grown up completely separated from his family. Dean treated Sam like his best friend, such a dissonance with the older hunter that Walt sometimes wondered if they were really related. It was one of the only reasons he was so willing to trust Dean the way he did.  
  
Dean had proven himself, again and again, against all odds.  
  
That reminder made it easier for Walt to finally relax his stance by a hair. Not much, considering the animosity hanging in the room between Dean and Bobby, and the tension between John and Walt, but enough. He couldn’t be afraid of Dean, they were  _family_.  
  
“There are others in the car,” Walt said, swallowing down his worry. “We were hoping they might find a home here.”  
  
Bobby’s eyes snapped over to Dean, but Sam was the one to continue. “They’re the ones that Gordon Walker was trying to kill,” he informed Bobby, his voice heavy. “We couldn’t risk leaving them at the motel anymore. There’s no telling if he’ll come back and take care of them when Dean’s not in town.”  
  
Bobby’s lips thinned. No one disapproved more of the extermination of people just because they fell on the ‘supernatural’ spectrum of things, but too many people were of that line of thought. “Of course they can stay here,” he said magnanimously, officially extending the invitation. “In the house or out, whichever suits.”  
  
“Right. We’ll bring ‘em in,” Dean said gruffly. “Some might decide to go…” He paused, glancing at his dad before settling on, “elsewhere.”  
  
Out of the house, beyond the junkyard and all the scrapped cars, there was a field. In that field, where once Sam had played hide and seek (with or without Dean’s knowledge), lay a burrow. Inside was a small community, of no more than thirty people Sam and Walt’s size. Arthur Harbor, the founder of that community, had extended the hand of friendship to Sam and to anyone else. Those that drifted or were lost were welcome in his home.  
  
Of course, John Winchester knew none of this. Though the brothers would trust their father with their lives, they also knew that Arthur would severely rebuke them for sharing the secret without consulting him. He had chosen to show himself to Dean and Bobby, and he deserved the chance to decide who else learned of the burrow, the haven he'd built.  
  
Sam and Dean wouldn’t give up that secret, not even to their dad.  
  
The subtext of Dean’s statement and the fact that he was hiding something was not lost on John, but the older hunter merely frowned and nodded.  
  
“When you’re done, we need to talk,” he said gruffly.  
  
Dean nodded in return, pivoting on his heel with both Walt and Sam clinging to his collar. It was quiet between the three, an air of tension having formed at Walt’s startled reveal. No one had ever suspected they had hidden ties, stretching far back before the brothers were born.  
  
When Dean pushed open the door to the house, Rumsfeld jumped up from where he was lying across the welcome mat. Walt stiffened instinctively, not understanding how Sam was so  _calm_  about everything.  
  
Sam’s quick words covered up the last leg of their trip back to the car. “Rumsfeld won’t hurt anyone while they’re exploring if they want to check out the house,” he explained hurriedly. “He’s harmless. He’s pretty good at sniffing us out while we’re in the walls, so don’t be surprised if you hear him on the other side. He might scratch if he’s lonely. If you don’t want to be bothered, he’s more than willing to chase off Dean or Bobby.”  
  
“Thanks,” Dean grumbled sarcastically, opening up the door to the Impala with a loud  _creak_.  
  
The hunter was gentle as he gathered up the duffel bag with a small warning. Inside, the weight shifted as it tilted to the side, the sound of sliding heard from within. Dean tossed the strap over his shoulder to keep his hands free, and fended off Rumsfeld to a small few shrieks within the bag. Walt would have to explain things to them later.  
  
Coming back, they avoided the room with John and Bobby, making their way upstairs to the room where Sam regularly stayed. The sight of the familiar bookshelf greeted them, awash in the rays of sun as they speckled across the interior. Down on the bottom shelf, intricate carvings disguised a hidden room for Sam, one that had a bed and chest all his size, and any extra possessions he didn’t need to bring with him while hunting.  
  
Bobby had made that room months back, after discovering Sam’s survival after his curse. It was one way to thank the kid for everything he’d done, up to and including saving both Dean and Bobby’s asses while on a case. More than once, without Sam there to help them, they wouldn’t have made it out alive.  
  
Dean rested the duffel bag on its side with the opening as wide as it could go, then sat back and stretched out his arm for Sam and Walt’s use. He stayed quiet, merely watching as people began to trickle out the opening, stepping carefully over the large metal teeth of the zipper. Walt and Sam met them, and talked in hushed voices.  
  
Knowing he would only get in the way, once Dean was certain everyone else was clear, he moved to the edge of the room and leaned against the wall, only remaining watchful so that he knew where everyone was at all times. No stray movement of his would put any lives at risk like this, of that he was determined.  
  
The talk wrapped up swiftly, Sam and Walt both gesturing to different places in the room and the walls themselves. Sam talked the most, having explored much of the interior during his previous stays. He’d only told Dean bits and pieces, saying it wasn’t as interesting as it sounded, but Dean remained curious. Some days it felt like Sam lived in an entire separate world, one of darkness and walls, only able to leave that world behind because of Dean.  
  
Once they were done, everyone moved together, slowly making their way to the edge of the room and their perceived safety. A few glances were spared towards Sam’s hidden room, but they left it be, respecting his privacy. Dean spotted Kara in the crowd, bouncing on her heels to wave at him as Christian propelled her after Mikael.  
  
There was no resisting a smile at her innocent excitement to see her good friend. Dean raised his hand up, wiggling his fingers in a wave and sending a wink. She giggled, a sound that could only just be heard over the ambient noise of the house around them, and elbowed Sean, the small cursed boy she’d attached herself to upon arriving at  _Trails West._  Sean followed her gaze, blinking at Dean before waving back.  
  
A grin lingered on Dean’s face when Sam and Walt got back to him. Distracted from the others, he glanced down, eyebrows going up in surprise. “Not goin’ with them?” he asked Walt, not expecting that.  
  
Walt shook his head. “I have a feeling I should be there when you talk to the hunters,” he said, lingering stiffness lurking in his voice. “The others will be fine. They know what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** February 27 th, 2018
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	4. The Identity of Mina Chandler

Once again, Sam and Walt found themselves on Dean’s shoulder as he walked downstairs.  
  
The sway from Dean taking the stairs was pronounced from so high up in the air, and his habitual swagger didn’t help, though Walt wouldn’t dream of scolding a human he was  _sitting_  on, and Sam seemed to find it…  
  
Normal.  
  
Those two boys would never make sense to Walt.  
  
Soft voices from the other room died off as Dean reached the ground floor. The door creaked as he pushed it open, and Bobby and John both glanced up in unison from a journal they were poring over.  
  
“Boys,” John said tightly, while Bobby smiled a warm welcome.  
  
“I assume you have a reason you’re here,” Dean said flatly, his voice faintly antagonistic as he stepped over to the desk they were hunched over.  
  
Slight offense crossed John’s face, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “You could say that.”  
  
“We have a lead on the demon that killed your mother,” Bobby interrupted, looking from Sam to Dean to Walt. “And your wife.”  
  
“What then?” Dean demanded, sitting down in the spare chair so fast that Sam and Walt had to cling to avoid being thrown off. “We exorcise it? It’ll just come back. We can’t  _kill_  the bastards.”  
  
Sam had never heard such a tone of betrayal in Dean’s voice before. He shot a surprised look at his older brother, remembering that night months back in the Impala.  
  
Waking up to Dean’s plaintive story… hearing at last the explanation for  _why_  Dean had become the man he was today.  
  
Knowing there was nothing he could do to change it at this late hour, only able to offer his support.  
  
The walls Dean had built around his heart long ago when he lost Sam had crumpled that day, and he hadn’t been able to reform them. Sam didn’t  _want_  him to hide behind those walls again, but here and now, there was a raw feeling of betrayal to Dean’s words. Sam knew it was so apparent because of those confessions in the car.  
  
John gave Dean his own look of surprise in return. He hadn’t been in contact with either brother since before their case with the fire sprites-- not that he’d ever tried to contact Sam without going through Dean, anyway. He had no idea what they had gone through to get to this point.  
  
Shifting in place, John withdrew a gun from his jacket, and placed it on the desk.  
  
“That’s the one?” Bobby asked, leaning close to examine it, a hint of awe in his voice.  
  
Dean leaned in as well, following suit. On his shoulder, Walt leaned back as their ground shifted, an uncomfortable look on his face. A gun like that would leave nothing behind if ever someone took aim at a person their size. Not even a smear of blood.  
  
“That’s it,” John confirmed. He looked from person to person, hunter to hunter. “This is how we’re going to take that demon out.”  
  
Dean scoffed, sitting back. “You expect me to think some measly little pea-shooter is going to hurt a  _demon?_  ” he sneered at the implication, looking offended that they expected him to believe such drivel.  
  
A sharp blow hit Dean’s ear. “Pay attention!” Bobby barked. “That’s not  _just_  a pea-shooter. That’s _the_  Colt.”  
  
Sam and Walt watched the interactions with wide eyes, keeping close. Though Bobby had hit Dean on the other side of his head, it was hard to be  _okay_  with the person they were sitting on being slapped. A blow like that would do more damage than they could recover from.  
  
Dean massaged his sore ear, eyeing Bobby suspiciously as the older hunter reverently picked up the gun.  
  
John sighed deeply, his eyes glued on the gun. “Back in 1835, when Halley’s comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo. They say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. He made it for a hunter, a man like us only on horseback. Story goes he made thirteen bullets, and this hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him.”  
  
There was a rare tone of reverence in his voice as he recited the story from memory. Bobby held it out, passing it over to Dean who checked it out in turn with an expert eye, brushing callused fingers over runes embedded in the side.  _Non tiembo mala_  was inscribed along the side. Sam, just as fascinated, leaned as far off the edge of Dean’s shoulder as he dared, hungrily drinking in every inch of the gun. Realizing his little brother’s curiosity, Dean held the gun within reach of Sam, and shortly two far smaller hands brushed along the gleaming metal.  
  
“A friend of mine, Daniel Elkins, somehow got his hands on it,” John said as he wrapped up his story. “Not sure how, he wasn’t much the sharing type. I got a letter sent to me after some vamps got the best of him…”  
  
“ _Vampires?!_  ” Dean interrupted, briefly thrown out of the story by his shock. He lowered the gun down, placing it carefully back on the table. “You’re telling me they’re  _real?_  ”  
  
John shook his head ruefully. “I honestly thought they were extinct, after Daniel and a few others took care of them. Turns out, we were wrong. They got the best of Daniel, and then I got the best of them. And this gun is our prize.”  
  
Everyone looked down at the gun as John finished “They say this gun can kill anything.”  
  
Sam blinked. “Anything… like the demon, anything?”  
  
John smirked. “That’s right. Like the demon.” He looked at Dean. “But you’re not gonna like the plan to draw it out.”  
  
Dean scowled. “I didn’t  _like_  having to hunt on my own all that time after you vanished.”  
  
The discussion was interrupted by a sharp knocking from the front door, and Bobby excused himself from the room, bustling past Dean and leaving the strange family on their own for the first time.  
  
John frowned. “Dean, I  _had_  to look into these legends, you  _know_  we have to track this demon down--"  
  
“Yeah, but that didn’t mean you had to  _abandon_  me to do it!” Dean exploded, fuming. Walt and Sam were both wide-eyed in their spot on Dean’s shoulder, only able to watch the fight from the outskirts. “You didn’t  _call,_  you never let me know if you were even  _alive,_  you never checked in when I called you after finding  _Sam…_  and it was  _your_  text that helped me find him!”  
  
“Text?” John said, the anger passing partially out of his voice in his shock. “What text?”  
  
“The one that pointed me back at Haven, Kansas!” Dean snapped. “Without that, I never woulda--"  
  
He trailed off as he spotted the look on John’s face. “The text?” Dean prodded. “I called you that entire night trying to get an answer…”  
  
John shook his head. “I never sent a text to go back to Haven,” he said, his face white. “I never went back after we lost Sam… not since losing the trail of the witch.”  
  
Dean fished in his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. There were very few phone numbers on it, his main phone. He usually handed out his burner numbers when picking up women at bars, or when he was on a case and talking to victims. This phone held John’s number, Bobby’s, Sam’s cell he’d bought at the beginning of the year in case the kid needed to call him from the room, their new friend Jacob, known only through their association with the wood sprite Bowman Leafwing, and some of Dean’s old hunting buddies. This meant it was seconds before Dean had the message up on his phone, holding it towards John for him to see.   
  
 **8-13-05; 12:07AM -- Haven, Kansas**  
  
“Dean,” John said slowly. “I don’t know who sent you that message, but it  _wasn’t me._ ”  
  
Dean closed his mouth from the shock. “Then who--"  
  
His question was interrupted by the arrival of two people at the door. Sam stiffened on Dean’s shoulder, his instincts instantly on edge as he felt the mark of strange eyes on him, and Walt was no better, flinching closer to Dean’s neck. This new man was taller than Dean and Bobby, with dark skin like Gordon. It took a moment for Walt’s elevated pulse to calm down enough for him to realize it  _wasn’t_  Gordon standing there in the doorway, staring at the people on Dean’s shoulder.  
  
“They them  _littles_  you been talkin’ ‘bout?” the man asked, glancing at Bobby.  
  
Bobby nodded. “Sam, Walt. This is Rufus Turner, an old…  _friend_  of mine. He’s going to help us draw out the demon.”  
  
Rufus scoffed, pushing his way into the room and sinking into the ornate desk chair Bobby had vacated to let him in. “I still don’t know why you need  _me_  for this.”  
  
“John was about to explain that,” Bobby said. “So now that we’re all here, how about we get started?”  
  
As Bobby leaned against the wall, watching from the outskirts with all the other chairs taken, Dean leaned forward, his hands folded. “How do you even know where to  _find_  the bastard?” he asked, his eyes intently glued on his father, ignoring Sam and Walt with the promise of their long-sought enemy.  
  
John smiled grimly. “I don’t,” he said, his face dark. “But we don’t need to track him down. We know where he’ll be, and what he’ll come out of hiding for.  
  
“You see, I’ve been watching you boys for some time, ever since Sam got kidnapped.”  
  
Distantly, Dean found himself glad to hear his father referring to Sam’s capture as a  _kidnapping_  instead of being  _taken._  One acknowledged that Sam was as much a person as Dean and John while the other made him sound like a possession to be argued over, grabbed whenever someone felt like they needed him. Dean would die before he ever let anyone treat his brother like an object. Not even their father had that right.  
  
“Now, you don’t know this, but those people-- the  _Mangas_  family, they had connections. People they sell other… littles to, making a profit.”  
  
“Of course we know that,” Dean interrupted disdainfully, remembering Sam’s detailing of how he’d been sized up for sale like a prize pureblood. Just the memory made Dean’s blood boil.  
  
John shook his head. “You know the basics, but not how deep it goes. They’re just the tip of the iceberg. The woman who came to buy Sam--  _she’s_  the key to it all.”  
  
Sam perked up, at last able to make a contribution to the discussion. “You mean Mina?”  
  
Rufus have a start. “Mina… Chandler? Is that who you’re talkin’ ‘bout?”  
  
Sam glanced over at Rufus, barely noticing the weight of the man’s gaze in his excitement. “That’s what Isabelle called her.”  
  
John waved them all back on course. “Mina-- or as Rufus and Bobby know her,  _Bela Talbot,_  is the key to everything. Where she goes, the witch will come. She called Celeste-- the witch that got Sam those years back-- and  _told_  her about Sam. I was able to track down a conversation the pair had. Sam wasn’t going to be sold overseas with the others-- he would have gone straight to Celeste if Dean hadn’t broken into the house and set everyone free.”  
  
Sam could feel his blood freeze at the implications, and at the reveal of his tormentors name. At last he knew what to call her, that tall, imposing figure that haunted his dreams since childhood. Dean had only barely tracked down all the captives before they were sold off to Mina, and all because of the help of Kara. Without her, without Dean, he would be in the control of the witch who had taken his life away.  
  
“What the hell does she want with Sam in the first place?” Dean growled, his hand tightening into a fist. Sam could feel the muscles under their seat flex, power far beyond Walt or Sam’s under Dean’s control.  
  
John shook his head. “We don’t know. We never found out why she cursed children in the first place. What we  _do_  know is she wants him, and Mina--  _Bela_ \-- is more than happy to give him to her. And where Celeste goes, the demon will follow. When you left town, lightning storms had just begun to form that week.  _It_  was nearby. When you found Sam in Haven, the demon was the one to destroy Walt’s home.  
  
“To draw out the demon, we need to draw out the witch. To draw  _her_  out, we need bait. No one has any idea that Rufus is involved with us, this is the first time in  _years_ he’s been around. He can pretend Sam’s for sale, and Bela will come running.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to get hot, fast. This is only the beginning of their revelations.
> 
> Phew, glad that week's over! Hubbs is home and recovering from the surgery, and if we ever get a bit of luck, things might start to calm down around here! It'll be about a month before they're certain the surgery fixed what it was meant to fix, and until then I just cross my fingers.
> 
> **Next:** March 17 th, 2018
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	5. Best Laid Plans

A long moment of silence passed, each person thinking over John’s proposed plan. Walt found himself appreciating the lengths this John Winchester would go to for revenge, though he didn’t agree with the way it would put Sam at risk. No one should put their son on a platter and serve him up to the enemy.  
  
Dean, it seemed, was on the same track. “ _No,_ ” he growled, the power of that growl reverberating through his throat and straight through Walt and Sam. “I don’t like it, it’s not happening.”  
  
Sam sighed loud enough to be heard throughout the room, no small feat for someone under the size of a hand. “Dean. Table,  _now._ ”  
  
The reluctance from Dean was almost tangible in the air, a thick feeling that permeated the room. Yet he shifted, resting the arm that was attached to the shoulder Sam and Walt were sitting on so it lay on the table.  
  
Sam wasted no time scaling down to the table. After a long moment of thought, Walt followed him. However much he  _didn’t_  want to leave behind the one hunter they knew was on their side, he also wasn’t about to let his adopted son face them all on his own.   
  
He had just reached the solid surface with an easy hop from Dean’s muscular forearm when Sam began to speak, his voice unrelenting while he stared up at Dean.  
  
“Dean, this isn’t your choice. We’ve been over this, remember?  _I’m_  the one who gets to decide if the risk is worth it, and I’m willing to hear them out.”  
  
Dean glowered, but didn’t say anything, merely removed his arm from the table, taking away their one shortcut back to his shoulder and leaving them in a room that crackled with hostile energy from all corners. Walt could almost feel the hair on the back of his neck rise up at the feeling.  
  
Sam turned to John. “I’m listening.”  
  
John cleared his throat, glancing over at Dean once before he gestured at Rufus.  
  
“Bobby told me you’ve had dealings with Bela in the past, right?”  
  
Rufus stared back with his own dark suspicion in his deep brown eyes. “Yeah, that’s right.” He couldn’t stop from looking at the two standing on the table, so small and vulnerable in the room, yet with more determination than most people regular-sized ever showed in their lives. “She comes to me to buy some rarities. Charms and such. But never  _people._ ”  
  
John dipped his head in a partial nod. “Generally, this all stays underground from what I’ve discovered. Hunters won’t stand for this kind of trade among themselves. It’s either a monster or it’s not, and if they decide people like Sam are  _people,_  they usually fight to the last breath to stop it.” He turned to look at Sam. “If Rufus can get her to come look at you for sale, we can set a trap. We get one, we get the other. We can finish this entire thing within a week.”  
  
Sam listened calmly, his jaw squared. Behind them, Dean continued to smolder, but paid intent attention to John’s words, whether he agreed with them or not.  
  
“Will that work?” John asked, glancing at Rufus. “It all hangs on you.”  
  
Rufus pursed his lips, musing it over. “So I’m just gonna call her up, tell her what I’ve got, and she’ll come? You think it’s that easy?”  
  
“You can tell her you’ve heard of her dealings,” John said. “We’ve unraveled enough to give you a believable story.”  
  
Rufus shrugged. “Could work.”  
  
Walt stepped forward, his small voice insistent. “Sam won’t be alone,” he said.  
  
Sam and Dean both reacted in unison, Sam whirling around to look at Walt and Dean leaning in. “Dad, you  _can’t!_ ” Sam protested feebly.  
  
“You don’t know what you’ll be getting into,” Dean said, right on Sam’s tail, to the point where they were nearly talking over each other. “We’ve dealt with this for years.”  
  
Walt fixed Dean with the stern glare that he’d used on Sam for years, surprised to find the warmth inside that reflected how he considered Dean  _family_. “I’m not letting others take this risk for me,” he said, his voice harsher with Dean than ever before. “You’re not the only ones who lost a mother and wife.”  
  
John nodded, his eyes distant. “Could work. Might help, even. Last time Bela saw Sam, he was with other littles. If we’ve got Walt around, it’ll help make it look less like a trap and more like Sam escaped and found his way to others his size, and Rufus caught them.” He met the gaze of each person standing in the room, including Sam and Walt. “Anyone have any last thoughts before we start this plan?”  
  
“But we haven’t even decided if we  _should,_ ” Dean joined in with his own protest, knowing full well he was losing ground. “What if we’re just wasting our time and risking Sam for nothing?”  
  
John sighed. “Look, I’ve been following this for a year now. There is no other way, and this way needs Sam as bait. He’s the only person we  _know_ , beyond a shadow of doubt, Celeste will come running for.”  
  
“Boy,” Rufus interrupted, staring at Dean, “If you’re so scared of the plan, why don’t you just sit it out? Everyone else is willing.”  
  
Dean growled. “Sam’s  _not_  facing her without me,” he said darkly, unconsciously putting his hand back down next to Sam and Walt. Almost protectively, despite his disagreement with Sam. Nothing had changed between them. “Where he goes, I go.”  
  
Rufus smiled. “Then I think we have a plan.” He clapped his hands together and leaned forward. “Now refresh my memory. Where’s the grub in this place?”  
  
Bobby sighed.  
  


* * *

  
The hunters all settled into the house in their separate corners as the night crept up on them and the day wound down. Rufus managed to successfully get into the kitchen, and cooked up what remained of Bobby’s food while John quibbled the details of the plan with Bobby and Dean glowered from where he leaned against the wall.  
  
Throughout all this, Walt should have found the fact that he and Sam left the kitchen with full arms and full bags the  _least_  surprising thing, yet it didn’t work that way. He still never expected how  _okay_  all the humans in the house were with letting them just snitch the food right from under their noses.  
  
Dean offered to help carry some, but Sam waved him off. Not all of the others were ready to have a hunter tracking them down at all times.  
  
As plans for their demon trap fell into place and Rufus began to call his old contact to set up a meeting, Sam and Walt slipped into the walls for the first time that day. The darkness was welcome and comforting after spending so long in the light, in wide open spaces with no cover and in plain view of several of the largest humans he’d ever seen.  
  
“Y’know,” Sam said, his voice breaking through the peaceful silence that fell over them from the moment they were in the walls, “you don’t  _have_  to come with us.” He looked at Walt, meeting the sharp blue eyes with his worry. “The others need you  _here._  They look up to you, especially after the changes that have happened after the last few years.”  
  
Walt did Sam the courtesy of listening, but as soon as Sam’s voice trailed off, he shook his head. “My place is by your side,” he insisted, his voice gruff. “I couldn’t be there for Bree, all those years ago when she was the one in trouble. The least I can do is make sure I’m there when I can be.”  
  
“But that’s just it!” Sam said. “Bree’s here now, and she needs you just as much as anyone else. What if something happens on the hunt? She’d be without her father all over again! I can look after myself. I’ve got Dean backing me up.”  
  
Walt’s brow furrowed. “I know Dean will do whatever he can to save you,” he conceded. Before Sam could declare a victory, he pressed on, “But you’re going with a group of hunters that want you to be  _bait._  Dean might not be  _able_  to help you. Now, I have no idea what this thing I can do is, but it’s a hell of a lot better than just standing by and letting my  _son_  get himself caught.”  
  
Sam’s lips thinned, but this time he was suppressing a smirk. “It’s telekinesis,” he said helpfully, jumping on a tangent to diffuse the tension. “The power to move things with your mind. I’m more interested in  _how_  you can do it. We thought only curse victims exhibit powers like that, but you--"  
  
“I’ve been this size my whole life,” Walt finished. It grew quiet between them again as they both mulled over the implications. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see how it all plays out.”  
  


* * *

  
When they found where the others were holed up for the night, they passed around the food and shared it out between everyone. Christian and Mikael broke out some food they’d saved from lunch earlier on that day, and it became a regular banquet.  
  
With the distant sound of the hunters in the house, the gathering was subdued. Instinct was a hard thing to suppress, no matter how Sam insisted they were safe in the house and no one would bother them. He told stories about his brother and Bobby, shoring up his belief in them. There was more interest in Rumsfeld, truth be told, especially after he revealed the way the dog had taken him to the burrow.  
  
“It’s a nice place to life, but it’s out in the elements,” Sam said to a fascinated gathering. Kara’s eyes shone as she learned about a whole new way of living, and Krissy and Bree leaned against each other. “They can catch fish in the stream, and have vegetables they grow. There’s even a small mushroom farm out back. Everyone’s welcome there, they have plenty of room.”  
  
Through his story of how he met the field littles, Sam wound into it the freedom they had. The sense of living on their own, dependent on no humans. How they gathered grass, and dried it outside in the sunlight, the way the stalks of grass rose high into the air to hide them from sight. The uncertain truce with Dean and Bobby which Sam believed would blossom into friendship if they gave the hunters half a chance. The way Dean had proven himself to Walt’s family, he had no doubt in his brother’s ability to do it again.  
  
The peaceful serenity of watching the water trickle by and the way the burrow rose up above their heads, shored up by years of work and careful building, advanced from when it was just a rabbit warren until it truly became home.  
  
Later, after the food was gone and everyone split into groups to discuss their choices, Walt planted himself close to his son, determined to not let Sam slip out of sight. He wasn’t about to let Sam go off on his own on that hunt, and so was resolved to keep an eye on the kid as long as it took.  
  
He didn’t have to worry that night. Sam stayed with the group in their safe, dark corner of Bobby’s house. They all listened as the hunters slowly dropped off to sleep one by one, and Rumsfeld curled up close to the wall next to their temporary home to watch over them, an exhausted  _huff_  heard through the wooden panels. The dog had spent his entire day suspiciously watching Dean and the others, making sure they didn’t bother any of the littles who had now made their homes in his walls.  
  
Sam watched the light from a crack in the wall play over the dust that swirled around them, and wondered how their plan would go. This time tomorrow, it could all be over with at last. A revenge his father had sought out for almost as long as Sam had lived.  
  
Or they could all be dead.  
  
With such troubling thoughts following him into the dark, Sam drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plans are set, the action comes.
> 
> **Next:** March 31 st, 2018
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	6. Of Mice and Men

As the next day dawned, the light of the morning sun fell on a wakeful house.  
  
The hunters had risen long before the sun crept up over the horizon, peeking at the world to see what had changed since its face had last been seen in the west. Hearing Dean out in the hall, Sam’s eyes flashed open, and he extricated himself from the sleeping group of littles huddling together for warmth. He slung his satchel over his shoulder, and left as quietly as he could, hoping to get out before anyone else woke.  
  
It was a futile wish. Walt was already waiting for him, one foot tapping out a beat against the thick wood grain beneath their boots. He also had a bag slung over his shoulder, and Sam knew that in his jacket was tucked an older razor, the older man’s best weapon.  
  
Together, they left the others behind. Sam gave one last, fleeting glimpse at where Bree and Krissy were snuggled with the children, sharing warmth in the chill between the walls.  
  
 _They’ll be alright,_  he assured himself uncertainly. Whether he and Walt came back or not, the others would survive. They knew what humans to trust, and to avoid any others. Just in case no one returned from the hunt.  
  
The hunters were in the kitchen, silently preparing. Dean was leaning against a wall when Sam found him, absently eating some bacon and eggs that Rufus had procured from Bobby’s last hidden stash. He offered the pair a hand, letting them off on their regular shoulder and handing up some food. Not a word passed between them, and they settled in with the bacon and eggs to watch the others.  
  
The plan was as simple as it could be. Rufus had contacted Bela the night before, and arranged a meeting with her. “Out of sight of any pedestrians,” he’d offered, giving her the address of one of his off-the-grid cabins. “I doubt you’ll want anyone seeing what I’ve got for you.”  
  
Her interest was strong enough for her to agree, and the time was set. They had just over two hours now to get there and set up. It was imperative that she never saw another car or person at the house until they  _wanted_  her to. If she figured out it was a trap, she could call backup of her own.   
  
As it was, she’d had enough dealings with Rufus to trust his word. He was one of the most upstanding hunters, though the discovery of her trade in living, breathing people had soured him on the woman.  
  
The hard part was what Sam and Walt would have to accept. They had a cage for them to wait in while she arrived. Dean would have to be out of the room-- down in the basement, according to Rufus’ explanation of his cabin. The cracks in the floor would let the others know what was happening without Bela being able to see them in return.  
  
 _If_  they kept quiet.  
  
Sam and Walt would have to wait, in a cage, with Dean and Bobby far out of reach, while Rufus got Bela to drop her guard. Once she did, the trap would spring and the hard part of drawing in Celeste would begin.  
  
Easy as pie, as Dean would brag if he wasn’t so worried about leaving Sam on his own with a stranger,  _and_  in a cage.  
  
They had come to an uneasy agreement about the cage. It needed to look like Sam and Walt were trapped inside, so a lock would be slapped on the door, but Bobby had handed the key off to Sam to keep in his satchel. If they needed out, he could reach the door without any help from anyone else. He just needed to do it without anyone noticing, because it would be like taking candy from a baby, getting the key from him.  
  
Sometimes, working in a world full of humans seemed like more trouble than it was worth. Today, though, they had a chance to stop, once and for all, the demon and the witch that had ruined their lives all those years ago.  
  
Sam took a deep breath as he reviewed the plan in his mind. A cage. He’d have to go into a cage again. The memories of the  _last_  cage he was trapped in threatened to rise to the surface-- A crate where he’d found Bree, Christian and Mikael trapped in as well, put up to be sold to  _Mina Chandler._  
  
No one seemed interested in talking as they all got into their respective vehicles. With Dean settled in the driver’s seat of the Impala, waiting on the others to start, Walt pulled out his razor and absently fiddled with it, a nervous cast over his face that Sam couldn’t remember seeing before.   
  
Sam sidled closer to Walt so they could talk. “There’s still time to turn back,” he offered, one glance up to see if Dean reacted to his voice.  
  
The older hunter didn’t twitch, and Walt smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No,” he said, staring out at the house. “This is the right thing to do, and you know it. Mallory would want me to watch out for you.”  
  
Sam clapped a hand on Walt’s shoulder. “Guess I’ll just have to keep an eye on you then, too,” he said jokingly.  
  
“We both will,” came a deeper voice, and Sam gave a start, looking up to find just the corner of Dean’s eye looking towards them. It was difficult for Dean to interact with them on his shoulder, but not impossible.  
  
Dean smirked at Sam’s surprise. “Do you really think I can’t hear you there, pint-size?” He shook his head mournfully, a joke sparkling in his eye. “I thought you knew better.”  
  
Sam huffed with frustration, and Walt had to stifle a chuckle at his expense.   
  
The atmosphere in the car was easier after that, and as Dean started up the engine with a roar, Sam found himself hopeful that they’d all get out of this alive.  
  


* * *

  
Thoughts of the cage that awaited him kept Sam from relaxing even slightly on the ride to Rufus’ cabin. More than once, he found himself holding the key after mindlessly drawing it out of his satchel, the cool silver metal smooth under his fingertips, repeatedly reminding himself that Bobby would never  _lie_  to them.  
  
They wouldn’t be trapped. It was just a ruse, and one that they all needed to play out to the fullest in order to succeed.  
  
It had taken Sam  _months_  to recover from the last time he was in a cage. His arm broken, treated as nothing more than some prize breeding stock for the grubby paws of greedy humans… In fact, they’d pointed out Bree, his adopted family’s estranged daughter, as a potential ‘mate,’ based only on their close ages and comparable good health. A thought that filled him with disgust.  
  
Dean, perhaps realizing his earlier mistake in protesting what was  _Sam’s_  decision-- Sam and Walt’s, and no one else’s-- had mercifully kept his protests to himself since then. He knew the line he’d crossed, one that Sam had flatly pointed out while at odds with Dean before. A road they’d only traveled down once, where Sam’s life was put at risk to save the lives of others. Both brothers knew that if Dean ever took unilateral control over all decisions, something that was perfectly within reach for him considering their relative sizes, their hunting days might as well be over.  
  
In order to work with Dean as a team, Sam needed to know he’d be listened to. Otherwise, they were never a team in the first place.  
  
Dean’s worry was still apparent, at least to Sam, who knew him best out of everyone else in the world. Even better than their dad, who might have spent more time with Dean throughout the years yet barely understood the man he’d grown into.  
  
Both hands solidly clutched the steering wheel, a distinctly different posture compared to how Dean would normally sit in the Impala-- more casual, often with one hand draped by the window and the other lazily slumped across the wheel while absently drumming the beat of a favorite song. Now, the radio was off. No soft rock filtered through the speakers. If Sam was to stand and use Dean’s arm as a bridge to the dashboard-- something he'd done before, though not while the car was in motion-- it would be a solid pathway from the bottled tension, instead of the skin having give under his boots.  
  
Sam had no calm to offer Dean in return this time, equally strung out.  
  
In this fashion, they followed the line of cars. Rufus lead the way, Bobby an unwilling passenger who had reluctantly accepted that they couldn’t hide  _three_  extra cars in the forest. Two was already enough of a trial. John’s massive truck was second in line, the huge engine eating up twice the fuel of the others as it rumbled along, and the Impala brought up the rear, her sleek black body no less imposing than the truck she followed.  
  
The most hunters Sam had ever had occasion to hunt with, and it didn’t feel anywhere near enough.   
  


* * *

  
The cage was placed on the table by John with a shuddering thud. There was a certain reverence in his motions, as though he had, at some point, truly realized what a cage like that would mean to Sam and Walt.  
  
A lifetime of imprisonment, treated as subhuman based on nothing more than size, or forced into servitude.  
  
Worse. For Sam, it could mean being thrown to the clutches of the witch once more.  
  
“You ready for this?” Walt muttered, watching the hunters move around the room with suspicion.  
  
Sam steeled himself and nodded. “Yeah, I think I am.”  
  
The trap was set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bait in the trap
> 
> **Next:** April 7 th, 2018
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	7. Bait

Dean waited down in the basement.  
  
Every few seconds, he found himself impatiently glancing upwards at the shadow through the floorboards that he  _knew,_  beyond a shadow of a doubt, pointed to the location of the table Sam and Walt waited on.  
  
Trapped.  
  
The hardest moment in Dean’s life was watching Bobby snap the lock on the door to Sam’s cage. Despite all Sam’s insistence that he could take care of himself and that he knew what he was doing, all Dean could focus on was how thick the bars were. How Sam could never hope to escape on his own without that key-- Dean had  _insisted_ Sam try it out before he’d leave the room, needing to see for himself that it worked.  
  
And it did.  
  
The image of a much younger Sam, from years in the past, floated through Dean’s mind. So young, so scrawny, depending on Dean to look out for him, and he’d  _failed._ Sam had been cursed, and it was only luck that they’d ever found each other again.  
  
Luck, and a witch who just didn’t seem to want to quit. Finding new victims for her curse, like the young Sean, twisted just like Sam to live his life out the size of a finger.  
  
None of this made it any easier on Dean when he had to leave Sam behind in that room, locked in a steel mesh cage, his small hands braced against the sides when the footsteps of the hunters threatened to toss him off balance. Every ounce of Dean wanted nothing more than to rip the door from the cage and leave it in a pile of twisted scrap, no longer a threat to Sam or Walt.  
  
After the day was over, if no one was looking, he just might.  
  
“You know Sam can do this,” Bobby muttered from next to Dean.  
  
Dean growled, a dark sound that contained all his frustration at having to stay in hiding while his little brother took all the risks. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”  
  
“We’re not going to let anything happen to him,” John said, echoing Dean’s determination in the set of his jaw and the glare of his eyes.  
  
“Rufus knows what he’s doing better’n anyone I know,” Bobby reassured Dean. “He always comes through in a pinch. He’s not about to start letting us down  _now,_  after we’ve come so far.”  
  
“How do you know him, anyway?” Dean grumbled. In all the years he’d stayed at Bobby’s or worked on hunts with the man, he couldn’t remember seeing Rufus once, or hearing his name over the phone.  
  
Bobby shrugged. “He was my partner back when I first started. It’s been a while since we worked together, but he knows what he’s doing better than  _me._  He’s the one that taught me everythin’ when I was startin’ out.”  
  
A sharp, echoing knock resounded above the place where Dean, John and Bobby waited, and one by one, three sets of eyes watched as the shadow of Rufus moved towards the door.  
  


* * *

  
Rufus pulled open the door with his best smile, a forced welcome for the woman standing outside.   
  
“Good to see you could make it on such short notice,” he said, scanning her briefly for any hidden weapons. As usual, her large purse set off every warning signal he had, and he was fairly certain he could see the outline of a handgun in her pants, though such an obvious ploy could be done to make him drop his guard  _thinking_  he’d found all her weapons.  
  
Mina Chandler, Bela Talbot or whatever the woman formerly known as Abbie was calling herself today was a dangerous woman, and not one to be underestimated under the best circumstances, and with Sam and Walt caged behind him, these were far from the best.  
  
“I can  _always_  spare a moment for you, darling,” she said as she came into the cabin, her eyes darting around the room as she also scanned it for a trap. Which she wouldn’t find, the way his home was set up.  
  
During this scan, her light green eyes landed on the cage and lit up. “I see you found some gems for me,” she breathed, all else forgotten as she came over to the table and leaned down.  
  
Sam and Walt backed off from the edge, instinctively putting as much distance between themselves and her as they could. This wasn’t the first time either of them had been in a cage, but it was the first time they’d done so willingly. Rufus quickly came over to the table and tapped a finger on it to interrupt her musings. Bela glanced at him, an elegant eyebrow arching at his gall.  
  
“I think we’ve got some talkin’ to do before you get to leave with these two, so how ‘bout we get right to it?” he offered, feeling oddly protective of the pair in the cage. They were risking more than anyone should have to on a case, and he wasn’t about to let that bite them in the ass.  
  
“Indeed we do,” Bela said. She sat down smoothly, placing her purse on her lap and giving him a cold smile.  
  


* * *

  
Sam shuddered. Now that the woman had backed off, he tried his best to remove the icy chill that had snuck up his spine, the heavy touch of her eyes on him a lingering sensation he could do nothing about.  
  
“Is that her?” Walt asked under his breath, his eyes darting between Rufus-- an unknown, but a  _friendly_  unknown-- and Bela, a clear danger.  
  
Sam nodded. “That’s her. She’s the one that was going to take me and Bree away. At the time, she was the only person that scolded Isabelle for injuring me, but that’s just because I was worth less that way. You can’t damage the  _merchandise,_  after all.” He let out a hollow, barking laugh that made Walt stiffen, eyes flashing between the giants again to see if they’d noticed.  
  
Rufus paid them no mind, but Bela’s eyes strayed to them from time to time. She didn’t react to Sam’s laugh, giving the air of one who’d seen it all, another harsh reminder to Walt that this woman had sold off more than one of his kind. A prickling sensation spidered up his neck, and he almost found himself trying to reach for the purse she had on her lap, a strange instinct rearing its head. It was as though finding his strange, telekinetic knack had woken up new abilities in him that his body had always known about, and now he wanted nothing more than to unleash it.  
  
Spotting danger in Walt's eyes, Sam put a hand on his arm. “We can’t ruin the trap,” he warned, reminding Walt that they had a plan in motion. One where they had to play the trapped victims until it ran its full course. Anything else would tip the woman off, and could ruin their only chance at drawing the witch in.  
  
Walt sighed, and released the tension that had built up behind his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if she tries  _anything_  against us…”  
  
Sam smiled. “You’re the first in line,” he promised.  
  


* * *

  
“Darling… you have no  _idea_  what this means to me.” Bela sat back, fishing in her purse for the negotiated cash to pay for the two on the table, more than satisfied with the amount.  
  
“Oh, I think I do.”  
  
The cold sound of Rufus’ voice distracted her from her silent triumph, and she glanced up at him, almost expecting to find him holding a gun on her.  
  
Yet he sat there calmly, his dark eyes watching her without emotion.  
  
The sharp sound of a gun being cocked sounded out from behind Bela’s chair as Rufus’ voice died away. Sam stared up at the shadowy figure of his brother, a silent herald of death who could walk through a room full of dry leaves without making a sound. The young hunter’s voice was darker and more dangerous than Sam had ever heard it.  
  
“Don’t move.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, forgot to put this up earlier because of the huge headache I've had all day. Enjoy!
> 
> Next: April 14th 9pm
> 
> Comments and kudos are love~


	8. Spring the Trap

“Rufus, I thought better of you.”  
  
Bela’s voice had lost none of her confidence with Dean’s advent. He might as well have not been there for all the mind she paid him.  
  
Rufus stared evenly back at her. “You might want to address your concerns with Dean here. After all, it’s not  _my_  little brother you’re trying to buy.”  
  
Bela stiffened at that, but stayed equitable as she gracefully turned to face Dean, one of the best poker faces he’d ever seen in place on her face and betraying nothing. “Brother?!” She almost sounded surprised. Almost. “Don’t tell me you believe something so… outlandish, Rufus. You’re being put on,” she condescended.  
  
“Guess again,” Dean said grimly, his gun arm unwavering as he sent Sam the signal he was waiting for; two fingers outstretched and two curled in, one solid jerk to the side.  
  
Sam had the cage unlocked in seconds, stepping out next to Walt and edging away from her so they were out of reach. “Celeste never told you  _why_  she wanted me, did she?”  
  
Behind Dean, Bobby and John slipped into the room, weapons held casually at their sides. Enough for Bela to know when she was outnumbered and outgunned.  
  
Bela pursed her lips. “Doesn’t matter  _why,_  little gem. All that matters is she pays, and she pays  _well._ ” Her smile carried with it a dangerous edge. Surrounded by hunters, she was unflappable. “And  _you_  will bring me the most out of anyone I’ve ever sold.”  
  
Dean sneered. “How do you live with yourself?”  
  
“Rolling naked in money.” Bela flipped her hair casually over her shoulder. “We’re all going to hell, Dean. Might as well enjoy the ride.”  
  
Dean’s lip curled. “You disgust me.”  
  
She smirked. “What? And you’re all better than me, is that it? A bunch of blood-crazed hunters who tell themselves they’re trying to save the world so they can sleep at night, while in reality you’re just a hair away from becoming serial killers yourselves.” She leaned back in the chair. “I’ll stick with my way, thanks. At least no one dies.”  
  
Bobby stepped in before Dean could retort, able to see the ire visibly rising as Bela expertly picked at Dean’s pride in what he did. “Whatever you do with your everlasting, that’s your business. We’re here to ‘discuss' a proposition with you.”  
  
She merely glanced at Dean’s silver colt, the sun reflecting off the elegant engravings. The doubt was easy to see. “Proposition?”  
  
“We didn’t say it was optional,” Dean growled.  
  
Bela’s grin widened. “Go ahead Dean. Propose to me.”  
  
Bobby took over before Dean could form a retort to shoot back at Bela. From the sound of things, she knew just how to needle him.  
  
It didn’t help that she was primed and willing to buy his little brother.  
  
“We need to talk to your employer,” Bobby explained, stepping around where Dean was rooted to the spot, gun trained on the back of Bela’s head as she warily watched Bobby.  
  
Bela’s smile never faltered. “I answer to no one.”  
  
John came forward from the shadows he’d stood in the entire time. “We happen to know that’s a lie.”  
  
In front of her on the table, he dropped a photograph taken from a security camera. The blurry image of a blonde woman was centered on it, the sign of a quick gait visible in how she was positioned, neck craned to look over her shoulder.  
  
Sam felt ice fill his veins, only just able to make out the image from where he stood with Walt out of Bela’s reach.  _He_  recognized the woman pictured all too well. Her blue eyes staring at him as a child, seconds before catapulting him out of Dean’s world and into one of his own, separated by more than distance from his family. Her laugh, filling the air as she pinned Dean relentlessly to the wall, holding him back as she taunted Sam with the death of his adopted family.  
  
Mallory had died for the crime of adopting Sam and taking him into her home. Walt had escaped that same fate by a whisper of luck.  
  
Bela gave the image only a passing glance before flicking her fingers dismissively. “Haven’t seen her around, sorry.”  
  
“No?” John was  _almost_  smug. Almost. He took out a second picture and dropped it over the first. “What about now?”  
  
Sam frowned, not recognizing the woman shown this time. Short brown hair cut in a bob, her chest was nearly flat compared to how well-endowed Celeste was. It might as well be a stranger they were looking at.  
  
Yet Bela froze up, and Sam realized that the strange woman was  _talking to Bela_  in the image.  
  
There was no getting around that for the British woman.  
  
“It’s called a glamour,” John informed Bela dryly. “Used to confuse and misdirect. She thought it would help her evade us, but well… mistakes were made. We know it’s her.”  
  
Bobby squared off next to John. “Now if you ever want to leave here again, you’re going to help us find her.”  
  
Bela had recovered her equanimity, her face settling back into a mask. “No,” she said, her voice unwavering in her refusal.  
  
“Let me remind you,  _Abbie,_ ” Rufus said, his use of her birth name getting the biggest reaction from her yet. Lips parted, eyes wide, she stared at the only man to decode her true identity in over a decade. “We have ways of makin’ you talk.”  
  
She leaned back in her chair, tense and clearly angered. “You think you’re so much better than me,” she fumed, “but here you are, showing your true colors once and for all.”  
  
Dean stalked around to join John and the others. “I don’t give a  _damn_  what you think of me,” he said, leaning in dangerously close. “You tried to buy my little brother as a pet. There’s nothing lower than you out there.”  
  
“Keep telling yourself that.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll never help you hunt Celeste. Do your worst.”  
  
“And why’s that?” Bobby demanded, unsettled by the sudden renewal of determination from her.  
  
“Because…”  
  
The answer they wanted didn’t come from Bela. A low, sultry voice filled the air from behind the hunters. With all their attention focused on Bela, no one was watching the door for intruders.  
  
Or… she’d never used the door.  
  
The woman in the room, with her short brown hair and flat figure, was a spitting image of the second woman from the photos. She might be a stranger to Sam and Dean, but the second those cold blue eyes settled on Sam, he  _knew_.  
  
“Celeste,” Sam breathed, fear sinking in. They’d never had the chance to set their trap, and now she was here.  
  
The woman smiled brilliantly at his words, and her form began to melt.  
  
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, brown hair was replaced by blonde, golden ripples cascading down from the top of her head to overwhelm the plain brown, falling off her shoulders. She arched up a few inches, growing closer to Dean’s height as the rest of her filled out into her former glory.  
  
Those cold blue eyes never changed.  
  
All this happened in a matter of seconds, and as Dean, Bobby, John and Rufus went to react, she threw her hand out.  
  
Dean was caught in midair, diving out of John’s way to clear the path for the Colt, his momentum unexpectedly reversed as he was sent slamming into the wall, thudding to the ground and trying to squirm free of the harsh grip. Rufus, sitting in his chair and one hand poised mid-dive for his knife, was sent skidding out of the room backwards until they heard the sound of glass shattering from the next room over.  
  
And nothing more came from Rufus.  
  
Bobby and John were tossed back in unison, flying in the opposite direction from Dean. Bobby’s head slammed into a shelf with a sickening thud, and he crumpled to the ground like a limp rag doll, blood slowly covering the back of his head. John was pinned much like Dean, glaring at the witch with equal rage as she strolled calmly through the pandemonium, placing one hand on Bela’s chair.  
  
Sam might have seen all this if an invisible hand hadn’t grabbed him in an unrelenting grip, tossing him heedlessly into the cage. One shoulder rammed painfully into the bars, the door slamming shut behind him and the metal melting together until there was no entrance and no door.  
  
Trapped, with no way out.  
  


* * *

  
Bela remained motionless throughout the telekinetic attack, her hands gripping the arms of her chair so tight her knuckles turned white as Celeste stood next to her.  
  
After all her lip to them and all her sass, this was the most ill at ease she’d appeared the entire time.  
  
Celeste breathed in, savoring the taste of her victory. “At last, all in one place,” she purred. “You’ve done well, child, calling me,” she said, her eyes reflecting the eagerness in her voice.  
  
Dean squirmed in place. “Bitch!” he spat, and it was anyone’s guess who it was directed at. “How could she  _possibly_  have called you that fast!”  
  
“Oh, Dean,” Celeste smiled indulgently. “You sweet, innocent dear. You still have no  _idea_  what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?” She came close enough to him to stroke a fingernail down his cheek. “Some days I wonder if it’s worth the effort to curse you like little Sammy here. You’d get none of the benefits, but then… you’re just a thorn in my side to begin with. A tiny, insignificant thorn.”  
  
Part of Dean turned to stone at the implied threat, the other part… “You said it only works on children,” he said flatly.  
  
“Oh, I say… a  _lot_  of things,” she said teasingly, turning her back on him and dismissing him as a threat. She walked back towards the table.  
  
The only person in the room aside from Bela and Celeste that could still move, Walt backed towards the cage Sam was trapped in at the witch’s approach. He kept his razor leveled at her, doing his best not to falter.  
  
She didn’t even react to him. One hand brushed covetously down the side of Sam’s cage with a grin that turned Dean’s stomach. “For instance,” she said, “you still believe the curse is permanent. Maybe I should have rephrased that… the curse is permanent for anyone but  _me._ ”  
  
Between John, Dean and Sam, not a word passed their lips. The stunned silence was almost tangible, as though Walt could cut through it with his razor. Walt knew all too well just what Sam thought of changing back to his old size, how hard his adopted son found the thought of losing all he’d gained since the curse, yet…  
  
If he had a chance to go back to what he was, regain all he’d lost, who were they to hold him back?  
  
Out of the humans, Dean was the first to recover. His voice was as sharp as a whip. “Turn him back!” he demanded, the naked desperation hard to hear. It was a pain that resonated into Walt’s very soul, the thought of regaining everything they’d lost a siren call to Dean.  
  
“Turn him back, dammit!”  
  
Celeste laughed, her voice full of mirth. “For  _you_ , I suppose? So Dean-o can have his wee little brother not so wee anymore? Everything comes at a cost, kid. No one knows that better than me.” She stroked the cage again, and Walt could feel the rage boiling directly behind his eyes.  
  
“Anything,” Dean was pleading now. If he wasn’t pinned to the wall, he would collapse to the ground. “Anything you want. Just give Sam back his size. Take… take me instead. If it means Sam can be normal--”  
  
“Dean, no!” Sam snapped, coming out of his shock. “Don’t give her what she wants!” He slammed a fist into the side of the cage. “I won’t let them own me!”  
  
“Anything?” Celeste hummed, thinking it over. “You would give up…  _anything…_  for your baby brother.”  
  
“Yes, please!”  
  
“ _No!_ ” Sam grit out, renewed determination in his eyes. He slammed a boot into the wall. “I won’t let you!”  
  
Celeste laughed. “Oh, Dean, how I wish you could see how it would all turn out if I took you up on it. Sammy here could pick you up with one hand without you being cursed. I  _do_  so love the side effects my curse has on these little guys…” She held up a hand, a white light shining through the fingers, so bright it blinded.  
  
Sam and Walt threw up their arms to block the brightness, their eyes far weaker in the light than their human counterparts. But with Dean and John both pinned to the wall, no way to block out the light, they could only do their best to close their eyes and turn their heads.  
  
When it faded, Sam became aware of a strange resonance around him.  
  
He blinked away the glare, spots in his eyes chasing each other around the room as he tried to see what had changed. The humans remained pinned, though down on the floor he could see movement from Bobby, and felt a brief surge of hope that the older hunter would be fine. He’d feared the man would expire while Celeste held them in her thrall, helpless to get medical help.  
  
Then, Sam realized the buzz of energy came from  _him._  
  
He held out his arms, staring at the strange black spiderwebs that wrapped around his arms, his torso, his legs… Each finger was bound by threading so delicate a human would never see it, his hair was interwoven by matching black spirals. It was just like Nixie had described it. A curse, threaded around his soul like a spiderweb. He’d never dreamed he’d be able to  _see_  its work.  
  
“Sam…”  
  
Sam glanced to the side, where Walt was standing, and gaped.  
  
“It’s one of my favorite parts, I think,” Celeste said with satisfaction. “A curse that strengthens the vessel, gives them power and strength beyond what any human could hope to attain, and is transmitted through the generations. You must be a… second generation? Yes, that must be it. I went through this area not so long before.”  
  
Walt had the same threads wrapping around him, coiling over his arms and through his hair, and now Sam understood why he exhibited the same strange psychic powers as the other curse victims.  
  
“And now, we claim our prize.”  
  
The door of the cabin slammed open, and Sam looked up to see a man stroll in, an indolent grin on his face, his eyes a striking yellow. John gave a strangled grunt.  
  
“That’s him! That’s the demon!”  
  
Celeste snapped her hand up, silencing John’s movements. “I think you’ll be pleased at the progress,” she said throatily to the man, whose demeanor reminded Sam of a used car salesman. One with yellow eyes.  
  
“Sammy!” The man reached over to the cage, plucking it up as Sam braced himself with his knife and a hand gripped around the bars. “Been too long, kid. Over… twenty-four years, right? Since I last saw you in your crib.”  
  
“You’re the one that killed my mom!” Sam snarled, on the edge of trying to sink his knife into that hand, whether it would do any good or not. In his jacket, there was a pouch of salt tucked away, just enough that he’d be able to repel the demon for seconds.  
  
Something in him told him to wait, and bide his time.  
  
Celeste leaned casually on the table, watching the man interact with Sam. Her eyes were lidded, her power continuing to restrain John and Dean against their will.   
  
Out of her line of sight, Bobby began to fight his way back to consciousness, mumbling “Too strong… can’t be a witch.”  
  
His voice was too quiet for them to pick it up, or they might have had warning for what was to come.

[Celeste by lamthetwickster](https://lamthetwickster.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this trap for Bela or our boys?
> 
> Shit hits the fan and nothing's okay.
> 
>  **Next:** April 21 st, 2018


	9. Sacrifice

“Killing is such a… harsh term,” the man, the  _demon,_  said. “I didn’t  _want_  to kill Mary. I just wanted a look at my… investment. Celeste here, she thought she had a better, more viable plan than mine, and I have to say, the outcome is just… delicious.” His tongue darted out, licking thin, pale lips.  
  
“How can you say that?” Sam yelled. “She died in my nursery, and  _you_  were the one that was there, weren’t you?”  
  
“She walked in on us,” the man said, waving it off. “I couldn’t let her get in the way, or figure out what was going on, so…”  
  
Sam slammed his fist into the wall, eyeing up the distance to where the man’s hands were clutched around the metal bars. He could climb there, even if he only got a second--  
  
Before Sam could retaliate, before he could even  _think_  of pulling out the salt so he could strike back at the demon that had stolen his life, Walt, the only person in the room left free of Celeste’s powers, moved.  
  
Maybe Celeste had written him off as inconsequential. Or she could have decided that it would be good entertainment to watch Walt try and rail against their captors while the much larger threats were pinned.  
  
Whatever it was, Walt was determined to take advantage of her hubris. His family was in danger, and a flame of red hot, boiling skin burst along the back of his neck.  
  
As the demon taunted Sam, Walt was already running. He yanked out his razor blade, a weapon he’d used many times before to protect his family, only back in those days, he was protecting them from rodents and bugs, dangers for the smaller people that lived within the walls but not dangerous against the humans who lived without. This time, he was striking against a shrew who was threatening both with equal abandon. A shrew with blonde hair and blue eyes, one that had already taken his wife from him almost two years back.  
  
Celeste.  
  
Her hand with the elegantly dark shade of nail polish sat against the table, one finger impatiently tapping while she watched Azazel and Sam. Her power continued to pin the hunters to the walls, as trapped as flies on a sticky trap, only unlike when Walt had done it himself, he could feel no flow of energy between himself and them. Instead of trying to free them by reaching out with his unstable and unpredictable ability, he focused it, just like he focused his mind. Into a razor edge with one purpose.  
  
With the support of his own telekinesis, Walt ran right up Celeste’s arm, his aim unerring as he psychically guided his own steps. There was no chance of a misstep. He could have walked on air like this if he had the desire to.  
  
The second he reached her shoulder, he threw his entire body and mind into the attack, aiming for the weak point he’d noted while on Dean’s shoulder earlier that week. The hunter had trusted Walt and Sam, one less well known than the other, next to his jugular. They would never betray Dean’s trust like that, the man who had taken people just over a twentieth of his size and made them family, but Celeste…  
  
Walt’s strike was true. There was some subtle resistance to the blade as he struck at her artery, more resistance than flesh and muscle should offer, but with an extra telekinetic  _shove,_  the metal was sliding through and parting the flesh like he was following the lines in a coloring book.  
  
Blood soaked Walt’s blade and much of his body as it began to flow.  
  
Celeste shrieked as his telekinesis continued to push the blade ever deeper, far deeper than a man his size should be able to do. “You little shrimp!”  
  
With her attention gone, something snapped in the room. Dean and John slammed against the ground, trying to scramble and fight before she or Azazel could regroup.  
  
Azazel only smirked, placing Sam’s cage back on the table before the small hunter could take action. In a room married to chaos, he was helpless to what the others did, whether that be his family or his mortal enemies.  
  
Celeste grabbed at Walt, her long fingers encircling his waist. He struggled, trying to push his arm deeper into her neck, doing his best to shove the razor blade so far in that she could never get it out.  
  
Then her grip solidified, painfully tight, and he was ripped away from her neck.   
  
Celeste glared at him. “You’re too weak to be able to stop me,” she hissed. “Even with my little gift.” She held up a hand. “I might just take it away from you.” Power began to crackle around that hand.  
  
A gunshot rang through the air, and everyone froze.   
  
Standing not ten feet away from Celeste and Azazel, John Winchester had the Colt in his hand, the barrel smoking from the shot he’d fired. Walt’s head whipped to the side, seeing Azazel standing there in numb shock, a bullet hole in his forehead. Lightning bolts the color of blood raced down the man’s body, sparking across his skin as he shuddered.  
  
Seconds later, a second gunshot filled the room, and Celeste’s body shuddered in time with the impact, John’s aim true.  
  
Walt closed his eyes, and waited for the end. For her to fall with him still trapped.  
  
So long as the others survived, the sacrifice wasn’t in vain.  
  


* * *

  
Dean hissed as he pushed himself to his knees. His right arm throbbed from the impact against the wall earlier. There was a solid chance the shoulder was dislocated, leaving it useless for the fight.  
  
Yet as he saw his dad lift up the gun almost in slow motion, taking aim at the demon, it didn’t seem to matter. The fight would be over and they would actually  _win_.  
  
Months of searching, over. Years estranged from their father, gone. Once this demon and the witch were dead, the Winchesters would be free of a lifelong search.  
  
Azazel’s husk dropped to the floor as John Winchester rounded on the witch, taking aim again and firing off a shot straight between her eyes. Dean readied himself, prepared to dive for Walt the second he saw an opening. John nodded, to himself, to Dean-- it didn’t matter, because Dean knew what it meant. It was time.  
  
Part of Dean railed against the fact that with Celeste’s death, they might lose any chance of getting Sam back to normal, but another part, the part that had  _listened_  to his younger brother speak in the Impala that night, after the fight with the cryptid, that part knew that Sam wouldn’t want it any other way. If she walked, she might take more children into her curse. There was no way of knowing that they’d be able to force her to take the curse off Sam, and her haughty behavior seemed to speak against any chance of that.  
  
The gunshot rang through the air, and Dean’s legs tensed.  
  
The moment stretched out, the sound of the bullet crackling its magic around her filling the room.  
  
Then, it stopped.  
  
Dean could just barely make out the side of Celeste’s face as a horrific smile made its way onto her lips. Her eyes glittered a brighter blue, and the bullet dropped to the ground, useless. A smoking hole was on her forehead, but even as Dean watched, it began to close.  
  
“Think I’m that easy to get rid of, darlin?’ ” she purred, tightening her grip around Walt.  
  
“Think again.”  
  
John had no time to react as she whipped around, her arm arcing through the air. Golden locks of hair blocked Dean’s sight, so he didn’t see the diabolical plan she’d come up with on the spot until it was too late.  
  
Celeste threw Walt at John.  
  
John saw the danger, reacting as he always would. The way he  _had_  to react, and she knew that. He dove forward, one hand outstretched to catch the falling man. Walt was merely a ragdoll as he landed in the huge, callused hand. A hand that was covered in dozens of fine lines and scars from hundreds of cases where the hunter had worked tirelessly to  _save_  people.  
  
Walt would be the last person he ever saved, because the second his guard was down and Walt was safely in hand, a bright light flashed out at John. Celeste’s attack hit him, and John’s dive turned into a fall. Walt and the hand he was in hit the ground first, followed by the rest of John’s already-lifeless body.   
  
His brown eyes stared listlessly towards the witch, and something in Dean snapped.  
  
“You bitch!” he yelled, striking heedlessly out. He didn’t care if he had no weapon that would work against her. It didn’t even matter how his arm throbbed in pain. All that mattered was the way he wanted to feel her hot blood covering his hands as he ripped her throat out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** April 28 th, 2018
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	10. A Storm Gathers

“Dean! Dean!  _Dean!_ ”  
  
Sam called out, over and over, unheard. The cage was sitting on the table, barely ten feet away from where Dean lashed out with his knife, but it might as well have been a gulf the size of the Grand Canyon. Dean was beyond hearing, beyond caring. Sam’s eyes overflowed with tears, and his words wouldn’t make it through the hot rage that Dean was trapped in.  
  
Celeste merely laughed, holding up a hand. Dean’s knife hit-- and glanced right off, sliding from her skin as though she was made of metal. Without the extra boost Walt had given his attack earlier, Dean might as well be attacking a wall. Her eyes glittered dangerously, the mark the bullet had made on her forehead smoothing out.  
  
Something invisible slammed into Dean, and his body was whipped into the wall. He grunted at the pain in his injured arm, but his eyes remained laser focused on her, a dangerous look in them that said he didn’t care what happened to him, so long as Celeste went down with him. He would go down swinging.  
  
“You Winchesters are all the same,” Celeste purred, stalking closer. “Always willing to sacrifice yourselves. You for Sam, your daddy for you both. Sam would give himself up  _this second_  if it meant me sparing you, but unfortunately for him, you’re less than useless to me.”  
  
She thrust her hand through the air, and Dean’s head slammed back against the wall. “You’re  _nothing_  to me,” she hissed. She did it again. Nothing more than a grunt escaped Dean’s mouth as he held back any sign of weakness. “Little Sammy is all I want. The little hunter that tries. You helped by getting him out in the world and training him to fight, helping him to hone his skills, but it’s time for me to claim what is my right.”  
  
Stepping over the burnt-out husk of the demon Azazel, she glanced down disdainfully at him. “Zazzles here had his own plans, but with him out of the way… I can go ahead with my own. And I’m going to  _enjoy_  getting you out of my way,  _boy_.”  
  
Another shove through the air, and Dean’s body slammed against the wall. Sam’s cries from the cage were overpowered by Celeste’s words, and there was no way of knowing if Dean could hear them if he tried, his eyes scrunched shut from the pain. “It would be a waste to put you under the curse like little Sammy here, but I have some… other tricks that will work just as well. Witches have their uses, as sycophantic as they can be. They have some of the most inventive spellwork I’ve seen in my millenia of life, did you know that?”  
  
Her hand coiled into a fist, and she started to chant under her breath. It was a low, deadly sound, and it began to thread through the air. Celeste dug her fingernails into the soft skin of her palm, blood flowing down and dripping into the floor as the magic began to take effect.  
  
At first, there was no reaction from Dean. His hands were bunched into fists, arms curled over his head for protection. He no longer tried to go for his gun or his knife, merely hoping to survive the witch’s attack long enough for someone else to stop her. A hope which was quickly dwindling.  
  
The magic slammed into him, and even those thoughts fled his mind.  
  
The pain of a thousand needles began to prickle at his skin, each bone turned into a sharp blade with pushed against his body. Here Dean gave in and groaned, trying to push himself up, trying to get  _away._  The pain doubled, and redoubled, and he realized something was changing.  
  
The room was smaller.  
  
Not only that, but suddenly Celeste wasn’t standing over him. Her hands were level with where his head was, her unflinching smile taunting him with his inability to wipe the smug grin from her face.  
  
He was  _growing_.  
  
Each bone was a symphony of pain as they expanded, the skin nearly ripping from his muscle as his body was forced into an unwilling transformation. Somewhere through the tears that caked his cheeks and beaded his eyelashes, he realized Sam was still yelling, still trying to break through to him. As helpless in that cage as Dean was against the spell.  
  
“You’ll never be able to touch Sammy again,” Celeste taunted him. “You’ll be too  _big._  Hunters will come after you, they’ll pride themselves on a successful hunt against the hunter-turned-monster!” She sneered. “You were never going to stop me.”  
  
She let her hand drop, and Dean slumped against the floor, a constant chorus of groans accompanying the forced transformation. He was helpless against the tide of the spell, and it mattered little that his hand felt as large as an oil drum. He could no more lift it against Celeste to strike back than he could shrink to normal.  
  
Dean’s leg brushed against a chair, knocking it over. He could see where his father’s body was collapsed, and a smaller shape near it staying as far out of the danger zone as someone only four inches could manage, but the simple truth was if Dean kept growing, the entire  _cabin_  would be the danger zone soon.  
  
Curled into a ball against the wall, Dean was taking up more and more of the room as he grew, pain lacing through him from growth pains. He didn’t know what was going to happen when he grew too big to be contained within Rufus’ cabin. Would he bust through the walls, or would he be crushed inside, just some lifeless mass that Rufus had to burn? He tried to draw himself into a tighter ball, not wanting to find out.  
  
Celeste smirked as though she knew what was on Dean’s mind. “Dean Winchester, the boy who got away. I don’t  _need_  you anymore, not now that I have what I want. You were the best way to get Sam sharp for his destiny. The perfect pawn. Ever since I sent you that text that brought you back to Haven--”  
  
“Wait, text?” That word brought Dean back to focus, and huge green eyes slitted open, a harsh glare hitting the woman responsible for so much of what they’d gone through in their lives. “That text was--”  
  
“Just another way of using you, my  _dear_  Dean,” Celeste laughed. “Did you never wonder? Did you never ask? Why would some simple witch want to shrink people?”   
  
Dean let out a strangled growl, and felt himself grow another few inches. At least it seemed to have slowed down, though if he was to kick out with a boot (an idea that had more and more merit the more closed-in the space in the cabin became), he could knock down a wall. With Sam and Walt in the cabin, it would only take one wrong move to get either them them crushed beneath debris; he would die before trying. “You used me,” he grunted. “I won’t let you use Sam.”  
  
With all the effort he could muster, Dean reached for Celeste. Or, at least,  _tried_  to. His arm began to shake from the weight, and it hit the ground,  _hard_. He was going to have bruises in the morning.  
  
 _If you’re even alive_ , a voice in his head taunted him, the same voice that told him time and time again that he wasn’t good enough for Sam, that he was useless and deluded.  
  
 _Shut up,_  Dean growled, his internal voice far stronger than his speech.  _I don’t care what happens to me._  
  
Desperate, Dean changed track and reached out a hand, thinking that if he could just reach Sam’s cage, so close yet so far away, he could keep her from claiming him. Sam wasn’t a  _pet_  or a possession, he needed to get out of that cage. If he was out, he could escape. Get Walt and run. Away from Celeste, away from Dean...  
  
Almost in mimicry of Dean, Sam reached out a hand to his older brother, no fear in his face for the sheer size of the hand reaching for him. If Dean wanted to, Sam’s entire cage could vanish into his fist and then some. It was barely the size of a bottlecap to Dean, and Sam’s thin figure inside even smaller. Practically a wisp. If Dean  _breathed_  too hard, he’d blow him over.  
  
Quailing at how his fingertip could nearly eclipse the cage, Dean let his hand drop. The ground rattled under the table, almost knocking Sam over where he stood.  
  
“I’m fine!” Sam shouted when he saw the  _look_  that crossed Dean’s face, automatically knowing Dean was beating himself up inside for being a danger. His voice was so quiet the mere act of Dean breathing almost drowned it out.  
  
“Sammy,” Dean whispered, realizing the beauty of the witch’s plan. She didn’t have to do a damn thing to him past this spell if it went on for much longer. He wouldn’t be able to interact with Sam at  _all_  if he grew too big. Her earlier taunts rose in his mind.  
  
 _You’ll never be able to_  touch _Sammy again._  
  
Celeste shook her head, a grin on her face that had no warmth to it. She looked the part of a woman who held all the cards in the final round of a poker tournament, and had seen what her opponents had. She knew she’d won.  
  
“What better way to hide an army?” she asked contemplatively, cocking her head and tapping a finger against the table Sam was on. Inside the cage, he glared at the sight of how casual she was. “What better way to create the perfect vessels? People who would be  _noticed_  if they were regular humans, people with strange abilities, strength beyond any other, endurance that should be ‘unnatural,’ at least so far as humans understand such things. Little Sammy here could put you to  _shame,_  Dean-o, just with his strength. He could bench press your precious car if he wanted to, and others his size can do more. All he’d need to do was live on the same scale, height-wise, and that’s what I had to stop.  
  
“I needed them to be  _hidden,_  you see, to escape notice so they could prosper and proliferate, and  _that’s_  where my perfect plan really took off. I never cared if they escaped me or not… I have ways, dearie, of finding what’s mine, as sweet Mina proves. And now it’s time to claim my prize.”  
  
As she went to reach for Sam’s cage, another growth spurt hit Dean and turned his vision and entire world red.  
  


* * *

  
Outside the cabin, the peaceful night had turned. A storm was coming.  
  
Trees shuddered under the sudden gusts of wind. The tall branches bowed under the power, and raindrops glistened against the vibrant green leaves. Full summer had come to the forest, but with it a storm that no newscaster had predicted. A roar sounded against the cabin’s walls as a blast of pure power surged by, debris caught listlessly in the relentless force.  
  
One might think the air sprites of aeternum had come to pay a visit, but no portal had opened since Nixie and Ilyana’s leaving. The playdates of the air remained in that strange world, sealed off from reality.  
  
A bolt of lightning arced through the sky, sending sparks in all directions. The clouds lit up, foreboding for all that they weren’t there just ten minutes before.  
  
With that bolt of lightning, something had changed.  
  
As the peal of thunder rocked the cabin, something crashed into the roof and rolled off into the underbrush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Zazzles  
> (Neon snickered at that nickname)
> 
> Here we are! So has anyone figure out who Celeste really is? One more chapter left, but before that, her backstory will post this Wednesday! You'll get to see where it all began, over a thousand years ago.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** May 2 nd, 2018: Birth of a Nightmare


	11. The Storm Breaks

(Wonderful, wonderful art for Celeste was done by [thefriendlypigeon](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com)! I highly recommend their work, they are a phenomenal artist!)

Before Celeste could snatch Sam away and leave Dean, Bobby and Rufus to rot as Dean grew ever larger, the roof shook under a heavy weight. She glanced up, caught off guard like everyone else.  
  
Dean could only manage a grimace under the pain, his mind fractured in a thousand directions. Yet even in that state, something said to him that what was happening outside was  _wrong._  No bird would sound like that when it landed, not the heaviest turkey vulture as it sought a place to roost for the night. Whatever was out there had all the subtlety of a train wreck.  
  
“Interfering children,” Celeste hissed under her breath. She shoved a hand out, hitting Dean with a telekinetic shove as she grabbed at the cage.  
  
The door of the cabin slammed open before she could get Sam into her grasp, the lights in the room flickering before they went out with a crackle of sparks. All that lit up the room was the illumination that leaked over from the open door of the kitchen, and the lightning from outside.  
  
The silhouette in the doorway didn’t look particularly intimidating to Dean’s pain-mussed brain, but his perspective was skewed by the fact that  _everyone_  looked like a doll. Celeste was tiny, Sam’s cage was approaching the point where he wouldn’t be able to see it, and John was a crumpled ragdoll that for a fleeting moment, Dean was convinced he could just stand up and make walk again.  
  
Before he could try this futile gesture to bring his dad back, the figure at the door threw out a hand, and the pressure against Dean snapped, releasing him to slump against the ground. Blessedly, the pain from his expanding bones evaporated, leaving him with a numb sensation covering him from head to foot. Like he  _should_  be in pain still, but wasn’t.  
  
It made the scene he was watching make a little more sense, but not by much.  
  
“Sister!” the stranger shouted, his gravelly voice filling the air as he stormed over the open threshold of the cabin. The wind slammed the door shut after him, wet droplets of water clinging to the ruffled brown hair and glistening against the long flaps of the trench coat he wore. The clearest blue eyes Dean had ever seen stared across the cabin. There was no ice to be found in those eyes, so different than the way Celeste looked at them all.  
  
He didn’t  _look_  like he belonged in the middle of a storm sent by God, in a forgotten forest with a hidden cabin picked out by Rufus for its obscurity. He looked like he should be sitting in an office, ready to prepare some poor sap’s taxes.  
  
Celeste snarled, her blue eyes dangerously angry. “You presume much to interfere with me on your own, Castiel!” she snapped, tense and coiled like a sharp spring ready to snap.  
  
Castiel, if that was his name, frowned. It was such a subdued response to the venom in her voice, Dean wondered if he’d imagined it. Celeste looked like she was ready to lash out at everyone in the room while Castiel simply frowned and spoke out in a clear, steady voice.  
  
“Do you think I came alone, sister?” he asked her severely. “You have overstepped your bounds, and it is time to answer for your crimes.”  
  
Celeste let out a peal of laughter, combining with the thunder in the air. “Fools! No one can stop me now! You’ve waited too long.”  
  
She snapped out a hand, and though Dean flinched, expecting another hammer of pressure, this time it was directed at Castiel.  
  
Her power broke over him like the tide against a formation of rocks. Castiel’s hair was ruffled and his trenchcoat waved as though in a strong breeze, but he gave no other indication it affected him. “ _Saraqael,_ ” he spoke again, no inflection in his voice showing that he’d been attacked in the first place. “Cease this foolishness and come with me. It is long since time for you to answer for your crimes. You have used up most of your power.”  
  
Celeste lowered her hand, glaring daggers at the man. “I won’t be stopped by  _you,_  little brother,” she growled, her voice deeper than ever before.   
  
This time, it was Castiel who went on the attack. With motions too fast to follow and yet so restrained he might as well be fighting as water, Castiel struck out with a long, silver dagger that fell out of his sleeve as though summoned.  
  
Shrieking her contempt, Celeste whirled in a motion to dodge, her black garments flying up around her and disguising where her body was. Each attack he made, she blocked with nothing more than her clothing. It was as though they were dancing, one always where the other was not. They flowed around each other, gracefully acting as one even as Castiel struck at her again and again.  
  
“I will not forget, Castiel!”  
  
Her eyes shone a bright, electric blue, slowly overcome by pure light, and her form wavered in place. Dean could have sworn he saw  _wings_  over her shoulders, the wings of a bird who’d gone through a fight, tattered and torn. Even as he watched, one of the shadowy feathers fell from the invisible limbs.  
  
And then she was gone.  


* * *

  
Castiel stood, watching where the so-called ‘witch’ had vanished for a few, long seconds, his focus turned inwards. Then he turned to Dean, his brow furrowing in a pantomime of concern. “I am sorry,” he apologized as he reached out and put a hand on Dean’s forehead. “We have searched for her for many years, but tonight was the first time she used her full powers since the night of the Fall.”  
  
Dean gasped as contact was made with his head. Castiel’s hand was small enough that it would only cover one of his eyebrows, but a cool splash hit him with the contact. Running down his body like someone had cracked an egg over his forehead, the blessed ice numbed all the sore muscles and bruises. A disorienting breeze hit, and then Dean was looking  _up_  at Castiel.  
  
Scrambling to his feet, Dean realized that he was back to his regular size, all the aches and pains of the battle and the remnants of previous battles washed away by the tide of ice. He took a deep breath, shocked to feel no pain whatsoever when he did so. “H-how?” Though his body was healed, his throat was dry and his voice rasped.  
  
Castiel blinked. “Uriel will find Saraqael before she gets too far away,” he reassured Dean, completely ignoring the question.  
  
“That’s not what I asked,” Dean said insistently as he got heavily to his feet. Not as heavy as he’d been moments ago, but his boots felt full of lead. “ _How did you stop her?_ ”  
  
Castiel’s eyes tightened in a squint that made Dean feel like those clear blue eyes were taking him apart, molecule by molecule. “My sister has power, but she has squandered much of it. The more she spreads her Grace, the easier we can track her. Now that she revealed herself by attacking you, we will be able to find her again.” Castiel’s lips tightened before going on, “I would wish that we had found her before her plans progressed to this point, but such was not the will of my Father.”  
  
“Your sister?”  
  
Between one blink and the next, Castiel was gone.  
  
“Son of a  _bitch!_ ”  


* * *

  
Hours later, Bobby stood back from the funeral pyre, his arms behind his back. A bandage around his head hid the injury he’d sustained during the fight. The hospital said he had a concussion, but it was getting better. He wasn’t allowed to be alone now, to make sure he didn’t slip into a sleep he’d never wake up from, but that was okay. He had Walt at his side to keep an eye out.  
  
Those first few minutes after the strange man named Castiel took his leave of them, Dean had ignored Bobby, Walt and Rufus. He was focused on one thing, and one thing alone. Not even his father's corpse could deter him from his mission.  
  
Bobby could remember Dean stalking over to the table and getting Sam’s cage into his hands. The look on that boy’s face as he stared at his trapped brother was heartbreaking, and it was only a minute before Dean had tracked down wire cutters amongst the clutter in the cabin. Sam collapsed into Dean’s hand, shaken from his time in the trap, unable to help anyone.  
  
Or himself.  
  
Dean crushed the cage under the heel of his boot.  
  
The Lord only knew what had become of Bela during the pandemonium. The British chick was gone before Azazel’s death, likely scampered off as soon as they were distracted. They really  _should_  have tied her down, but it was too late now. The tracks of her car made it to the main road, and the trail ended there, any other signs washed away by the freak thunderstorm.  
  
Speaking of storms, the thunder and rain had died off quickly after the fight ended. With Castiel’s unexpected exodus, one last  _BOOM_  was heard across the land. As though that was a signal, the rain shortly tapered off, leaving only dripping leaves and muddy puddles to await the hunters.  
  
Bobby found Walt on the floor next to John's lifeless body, the small man standing vigil over the fallen hunter. Bobby had heard rumors of their first meeting, but now he saw a respect in Walt's eyes for the father of the boys he'd adopted. Walt and John never got to see things from the same perspective, but they'd put those differences aside and worked together for the brothers. It was truly a pity they never had the chance to get to know each other in better times.  
  
The Colt wasn't far from Walt. Bobby frowned at the gun as he plucked it from the ground. It had done its job on the demon, but failed John in the end for reasons Bobby didn't understand.  
  
He hated the feeling that he was missing a piece of the puzzle.  
  
Of Celeste…  
  
Bobby had caught that glimpse of her as she vanished, dark wings over her head. That, combined with her true name--  
  
\-- _Saraqael,_ a gravelly voice whispered--  
  
\--left Bobby with thoughts that wouldn’t leave. Thoughts that went down a path he didn’t want to consider. But he’d found that fallen feather, a wisp of shadow and light that thrummed with a power all its own. A feather that was there yet not.  
  
If what he thought was true, they were in over their heads.  
  
Rufus had merely been knocked unconscious when he was thrown clear of the room, and came out of it bitching and grumbling about the mess they’d made out of his cabin. He was back there now, trying to fix it back up. One chair was broken by Dean during the growth spell, and several shelves the elder Winchester brother had never noticed behind his broad back had collapsed, but other than that, the supports for the cabin were intact, and the damage superficial. It could have been so much worse.  
  
For Rufus, at least.  
  
Flames began to lick into the air as Bobby watched. On his shoulder, the man named Walt Watch, the kid he’d rescued so many years back he could hardly believe it, stood watching. Walt didn’t talk much, but he’d grown wise in his years of raising a Winchester. He knew when it was time to talk, and when it was time to watch.  
  
A dozen feet away, standing vigil at the pyre of their father, Sam and Dean watched the fire consume their father’s corpse. A ritual salt and burn was done at the funeral of any hunter, to prevent them from becoming the very thing they hunted.   
  
John Winchester would want it that way. His fate would not mirror Mary’s, trapped on earth until someone sought her release.  
  
“Do you think they’ll be okay?” Walt asked softly, Bobby only just able to hear him by dint of having the man on his shoulder.  
  
With a world-weary sigh, Bobby nodded. Neither brother reacted to Bobby or Walt, at attention. “I think they’ll be fine,” he said, the confidence in his words not matching his worried voice. Walt picked up on that concern, but chose not to comment on it. “Those boys have been through more in the last ten years than most people go through their entire lives.”  
  
“And this… Castiel. What of him?”  
  
Bobby had no answer. He’d only seen some of that part of the fight, slipping in and out of consciousness the entire time. It was a miracle he’d recovered at all.  
  
“We’ll just have to wait and see.”  
  
As the fire began to die down and Bobby considered turning in, a sound cut through the solemn gathering. Dean gave a start, one hand diving into his pocket and pulling out his phone. The guitar chord came again, and he glanced back at Bobby and Walt before answering it, taking a few steps from them for privacy. He held out the phone, turning it to speaker for Sam to be able to participate in the conversation, a move that instantly aroused Bobby’s suspicions. He couldn’t hear what words were being exchanged, but so far as he knew, Sam didn’t talk to many people outside their circle.  
  
They didn’t have long to wait before Dean was striding their way, determination replacing the morose expression both brothers had been stricken with since the death of their father.  
  
“There’s a case,” Dean said without preamble. “I need to hit the road now, you think you can finish this up?”  
  
Bobby looked deep into Dean’s eyes, and slowly nodded. Dean trusted Bobby to take care of the funeral pyre for them, and put their father to rest. There was a fire in Dean’s eyes, and Bobby pitied the fool that got in that man’s way. “Don’t forget to write,” he said, the serious tone in his voice belying the joking words.  
  
Dean held out a hand, and Bobby pulled him into a hug. The young hunter stiffened, but didn’t pull back.  
  
“Be careful out there,” Walt called over to Sam, holding tight to Bobby’s collar. It was all he or Sam could do to stay on their odd perches, but both humans were conscientious of their passengers.  
  
“We will,” Sam promised.  
  
Bobby let Dean go, freeing him from the hug. Before stepping back, Dean reached at Walt and nudged the man lightly in the shoulder, one of the few ways Dean dared interact with people so small. Instead of the fear and nerves Dean might once have received in turn, Walt slapped a hand against the finger twice, trying to imitate a motion he’d seen other humans do and Sam had done with him.  _Patting them on the back,_  or some such craziness.  
  
Dean and Bobby stepped back from each other. “What’s the case?” Bobby asked.  
  
Dean cocked his head, hands in his pockets. “SOS from a friend,” he said. “Sounds like some serious trouble hit Wellwood since we were there, but they don’t know what’s causing it. It’s time to hit the road. I’ll text you if we need help.”  
  
Bobby and Walt watched the Winchester boys leave, the funeral pyre behind them burning down to an ember.  
  
A hunter’s work was never over.  
  
A comforting roar sounded through the fields around Bobby’s house as Dean turned the key in the Impala, and her rumble lead the way down the road to a new case.  
  
**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _TOLD_ you guys that Cas was caught up in main storyline things! He has made his advent into BA!
> 
> Season 2 has ended! Make sure to drop me a message and tell me how you enjoyed it! We've come a long way since this season began with **The Schism of Fire and Water** , following Sam's adventures when he discovers the borrowers at Bobby's house in **Adventures At Bobby's**. We even visited Wellwood and made some new lifelong friends in **A Lich of Sense**! And all of this came before the heart-wrenching reveals and deep development for Sam and Dean in the later stories.
> 
> Thank you all for coming! Season 3 is under construction and will begin with another adventure into Wellwood, where things are not as the brothers left them! Not to mention all the other storylines! Jacob and Chase will be dragged into other AUs, and maybe even Bobby Loran! And of course John and Sherlock have a lot to figure out with their tiny flatmates! Be sure to join us for our next poll, coming soon when **Jacob in Wonderland** begins to wrap up!
> 
>  
> 
> Be sure to check out Celeste's backstory in **Birth of a Nightmare** if you haven't already! She is one of the staple characters that is in all AUs along with Sam and Dean.
> 
>  **Next:** [For Science](http://brothersapart.tumblr.com/post/167844694074/sneak-peek), Coming soon!


	12. Epilogue: On Celeste, Curses and Knacks

The first hint that Celeste wasn’t all that she seemed to be came from her name, in the very first story!

Celeste:  _Celestial, heavenly._

Further hints were found in her [character profile](http://brothersapart.tumblr.com/post/152272034802/character-profile-celeste) for anyone who looked close enough:

She has no quantifiable age, created before humanity was born as the angel  _Saraqael._ Though her host, Celeste, is a human, the one controlling her actions was never mortal.

The gender of Celeste is purely dependent on her chosen host. As a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, gender is meaningless.

In past millenia, she has taken male forms and so  _Saraqael_ is often associated with a male angel, though this could be no further from the truth. If given enough time in a host, however, she does tend to take on the mannerisms of that gender, like most angels.

* * *

 _Saraqael_ : Prince of God. The Fallen Watcher. 

One of the seven archangels of heaven originally trusted to lead the heavenly host. One could call her current vessel an ironic twist, as she lusted for the daughters of men. Her primordial powers of protection have been twisted and corrupted, and she seeks to free her fallen brother by any means necessary.

This desire to break Lucifer of his cage is what brought her to Azazel’s notice originally, and he brought her under his control, an aspect of their relationship that chafed at her, though she put the demons he tasked to her to good use.

With Azazel out of the way, she can expand her influence without fear of retribution from the remaining Princes of Hell.

She has taken the time to learn true witchcraft since falling, discovering that it was an excellent substitute for her own celestial powers when she needed to avoid the notice of the angels tasked to seek her out and bring her to justice.

_Those who are most favored fall the hardest._

–Castiel

* * *

It’s time to get in-depth with one of the more integral parts of the multiverse– the knacks each borrower is born with!

For that, we’ll have to touch on the origin of the knacks, and it all starts with Celeste, or  _Saraqael,_ as her angelic siblings have named her.

More under the cut, because this will go in-depth on the background of Brothers Apart:

* * *

When Celeste first put forth her plan to Azazel, before the Fall, it stood in contradiction to ideas of his own. She was able to brush aside any plans of using demon blood to enhance the forms of humans, calling it a short-term and unsustainable drug that would accomplish half the goal for twice the strain on the humans. If her brother is to have a vessel, he will need his vessel to be stronger than any living human, to keep the darkness and power from overcoming them.

When she fell, her experiments and quest to prove this began, and the first humans to suffer her curse were the village of her host’s origin, including the witch Adriana, who framed Celeste as a witch to take the suspicion off herself.

* * *

Humans under the curse received instant boons in the beginning. More than a simple hex, the angelic curse she put on them combined waves of her Grace with the natural power of a human’s soul. They became stronger, their sense heightened.

To counteract this and to keep the angels from discovering her plan, she also used this curse to shrink them to nearly a twentieth of their regular height.

Hidden from sight and discovering that humans no longer considered them equals, the small folk developed their own communities and traditions, and so the curse began its work.

* * *

Originally, Celeste used the curse indiscriminately on both adults and children both. It wasn’t until a century had passed that she realized that while adults could possibly receive the boons she wanted– stronger bodies, stronger vessels– the amount of Grace she needed to use was multitudes higher than what she needed for children.

The children would _grow_  into their power, the same way a tree that took in fallen Grace as a sapling or a seed would explode in growth.

By the time she curses Sam Winchester, she is an expert at the art. Giving him a minimum taste of her Grace is all it takes for him to grow many times stronger than Dean, a direct contrast to the fact that at only a few inches tall, it does him no good against his older brother.

## Born vs cursed:

Kids born with the curse don’t always show signs of having a knack. Though the potential exists in every ‘borrower’ (A name given to them by one of the few humans to discover them decades back), it’s often overlooked or never manifests.

Cursed kids always show a knack because of the rapid way the curse works its magic on them compared to the slow growth of being born into it. They still might not notice, especially a knack that simply heightens their ability to slip in and out of a room undetected, but it is irrevocably always  _there_ , an advantage over the kids born small.

## Types of knacks:

Disclaimer: Not all knacks have been discovered or quantified. This is an ever-growing list.

Knacks can be a trait of the borrower that’s been enhanced by the angelic Grace in them, or they can rise directly from the Grace, giving a borrower an ability seen in the angels with the exception of Flight, as they have no wings of their own. 

Borrower knacks have strict limits in power, as opposed to the angels, who seem limitless.

  1. **Telekinesis:**  The ability to manipulate objects outside of their direct reach. This can often cause a borrower to be mistaken for a ghost, moving objects in a house without touching them for a distraction. Walt Watch has taken the ability further, freezing two humans in place and later directing his power at himself to force his razor blade through Celeste’s neck despite her angelic invulnerability. This came close to burning out his knack.
  2. **Telepathy:**  Able to beam thoughts into the mind of a human, or communicate with the other borrowers from a distance without being overheard.
  3. **Invisibility:**  Though the borrower does not make themselves actually invisible in most cases, the invisibility knack allows them to camouflage and blend in to their surroundings. In Sean’s case, he can cause a cloud of distortion that hides himself and any of his friends that stand close enough.
  4. **Essokinesis (Reality Warping):**  Though reality warping seems too strong for a borrower at first glance, it tends to arise as an ability to change objects around them, often making a useless object into something useful, above and beyond a borrower’s regular mechanical prowess.
  5. **Pyrokinesis:**  The ability to manipulate fire in limited forms.
  6. **Enhanced Awareness:**  This can either enhance an already understood sense to supernatural levels, or give the borrower a ‘sixth sense,’ much like how Sam can feel if he’s being watched. His ability does not work on other borrowers, the angelic Grace around their souls keeping the perception from working on them.
  7. **Enhanced Tracking:**  Trackers, like Dean, are able to use their ability to track down their target with undeniable accuracy. There are limits, as Dean can only track down  _objects he needs_. He is unable to apply this to people, and if he can’t conjure up that sense of  _need_ , nothing will happen. This is not limited by distance, though if he’s far from an object, he only gets a sense of what direction it’s in.
  8. **Supernatural Strength:**  Some, like Jacob, grow stronger than even other borrowers. This comes from their innate ability to turn their knack on their own bodies by instinct. These borrowers can rarely stretch their power beyond their body, but as a result, they can lift weights far beyond the limit of any others. Some borrowers only have certain parts of their bodies enhanced, giving that part a boost above and beyond even that extra strength.
  9. **Protection:**  Like the invulnerability of an angel, some borrowers are able to guard themselves from damage. They can be stepped on or fall from a high distance and receive only bruises. If you ever see a borrower ‘bounce,’ there’s a good chance they have this ability and don’t realize it.
  10. **Mental Manipulation:**  A knack that’s easily abused, mental manipulation can go from talking a human into ‘forgetting’ they ever saw a borrower all the way to digging into a person’s mind to control how they think. Highly dangerous. Adult borrowers have some immunity to this knack due to the angelic Grace, while children can be manipulated as easily as a human. Can also manifest as the ability to divert a human’s attention.
  11. **Time Distortion:**  The ability to slow down or stop time. A very strong knack that requires training to sustain for longer than a few seconds. 
  12. **Regeneration:**  The ability to regenerate wounds. Some borrowers with this ability have also been seen to extend their lives beyond the natural lifespan of their race, retaining youth.
  13. **Animal Empathy:**  The ability to form close bonds with animals. Often used on mice or rats, sometimes bats and birds. Even a few friendly spiders exist that borrowers have befriended. A strong user of this ability can even mentally communicate with the animals.
  14. **Static Electrokinesis:**  The ability to manipulate static electricity. A borrower with this ability might be seen with extra frizzy hair a lot before they realize that they’re doing it to themselves. If trained, they can zap on command and even stick to walls if they’re light enough.
  15. **Empathy:**  Empaths can sense the emotions around them, either from a distance or by touch, depending on the strength of their ability. The strongest empaths can share their own emotions with others, by force or by choice.
  16. **Psychometry:**  Able to learn facts about people or events by simply touching inanimate objects associated with them. Stronger users can do this with a glance. Learning how to slow the rush of facts and information is often a necessary survival technique for these users, so they don’t overwhelm their mind.
  17. **Prescience:**  A brief look forward in time, to parse through possibilities and see what can arise from certain decisions being made. 
  18. **Enhanced Stealth:** A fairly common knack, borrowers with this are the best at sneaking into and out of rooms without being detected, even if the humans are up and active at the time. 



All these, and more! The knacks that borrowers use are as varied as the abilities humans have, and new ones are being discovered all the time!

## Burnouts:

If a borrower pushes their knack beyond their breaking point, the knack will snap and render their ability useless. A sign that they’re approaching this point is a headache, often accompanied by a bloody nose.

## Siblings:

Closely raised siblings often develop knacks that support each other’s. Sam and Dean are the prime example of this. One  _knows when they’re sought_ , while the other can  _find whatever they seek_. 

## Age:

The older a borrower grows, the longer the Grace has to work on them. This causes their knack to grow in strength even if they don’t train it. Sam notices this because he can start to differentiate between people like Dean, who are no danger to him and thus the sense he gets is ‘softer’ than someone like Gordon, a hunter actively trying to kill him. This makes Gordon’s gaze feel ‘sharp’ compared to Dean, and can cause Sam physical pain because of it. Walt’s telekinesis is far stronger than a young borrower could manage without training, able to suspend two full grown humans in the air without burning out.

## Limitations:

As useful as knacks are, there are limits to what they can be.

  * Borrowers cannot change their size.
  * Borrowers cannot shapeshift.
  * Borrowers cannot fly or teleport.



Some of these limits arise naturally, as borrowers do not possess wings like their angelic source of magic, while others are limitations Celeste worked into her spell. She can’t afford to have her can’t afford to have her experiments switching back to human size.

* * *

 

#  [Official knacks in the Brothers Apart multiverse](https://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?https://bamultiversehome.wordpress.com/2019/02/07/official-knacks-in-the-brothers-apart-multiverse/)

Though there are many different stories, no matter what, a knack will always remain the same for a particular cursed human!

That said, here is the full compilation of canon borrower knacks that we have for the characters within the stories. Any that say  _unannounced_ has a knack, but we haven’t revealed it at this time! Any that say  _unknown_ , we’re still working on!

This list is subject to change as the stories evolve, and more characters/knacks may be added at any time.

* * *

### Main Characters

Sam Winchester–

  * **Enhanced Awareness:**  This can either enhance an already understood sense to supernatural levels, or give the borrower a ‘sixth sense,’ much like how Sam can feel if he’s being watched. His ability does not work on other borrowers, the angelic Grace around their souls keeping the perception from working on them. 



Dean Winchester–

  * **Enhanced Tracking:**  Trackers, like Dean, are able to use their ability to track down their target with undeniable accuracy. There are limits, as Dean can only track down  _objects he needs_. He is unable to apply this to people, and if he can’t conjure up that sense of  _need_ , nothing will happen. This is not limited by distance, though if he’s far from an object, he only gets a sense of what direction it’s in. 



John Winchester–

  * **Perception Filter:**  The ability to be unnoticed and/or ignored in presence and actions. John’s ability is unique, so far as he’s discovered. He is unable to apply this ability to himself, but has found that if he concentrates, he is able to hide his family from notice, even if a human opens up the walls and looks right at them. This allows him to leave without worrying that they will be found, though of course, stuff doesn’t always go to plan.



Mary Winchester–

  * **Terrakinesis:**  The ability to control the earth. While John’s ability tends towards more protective with his family, Mary is ready to go on the attack. She can’t affect entire buildings like the angels, but she can rock the ground  _just enough_  to knock a human off balance, buying time for her to escape. This works when there’s concrete, rock, stone, ect underneath the ground. She is unable to affect wood paneling at all and is cautious if she needs to go over a wood floor. With this ability, she was able to slowly carve out a safe home for her family underneath the ground. Adding in John’s ability to keep the family undetected, it seemed a good place to raise their two boys. Mary keeps several pebbles on her that she can flick at an attacker in case she needs a quick escape. Dean certainly got his accuracy from his mother.



Bobby Singer–

  * **Psychometry:**  Bobby’s knack allows him to learn from books and artifacts at a glance or a touch. He’s unable to read people, but if he gets an item of theirs, he can know what it was used for, how it will be put to use in the close future. This includes seeing that a knife will be used for a murder,  _before_  the murder happens.



Jacob Andris–

  * **Supernatural Strength:**  Some, like Jacob, grow stronger than even other borrowers. This comes from their innate ability to turn their knack on their own bodies by instinct. While Sam and Dean receive the standard borrower strength boost while cursed, allowing them to lift around 12x their body weight, Jacob is able to lift, at only 18, a colossal _42x his natural body weight._  If he was human-sized, he could bench a car without breaking a sweat.



Oscar–

  * **Pyrokinesis:** The ability to manipulate fire in limited forms. Oscar would  _not_  easily discover this knack, as a fire in the motel room walls might cause the entire place to go up in a blaze.



Walt Watch–

  * **Telekinesis:**  The ability to manipulate objects outside of their direct reach. This can often cause a borrower to be mistaken for a ghost, moving objects in a house without touching them for a distraction. Walt Watch has taken the ability further, freezing two humans in place and later directing his power at himself to force his razor blade through Celeste’s neck despite her angelic invulnerability. This came close to burning out his knack. 



Mallory Watch–

  * _unknown_



John Watson–

  * _unannounced_



Sherlock Holmes–

  * _unannounced_



Stan Baker–

  * _unannounced_  



Moira Wainscot–

  * _unannounced_



### Side Characters 

Kara Bolt–

  * _unannounced_  



Christian Bolt–

  * _unknown_  



Mikael Foyer–

  * _unknown_  



Mark Bend–

  * **Supernatural Strength:**  Unlike Jacob, Mark’s ability only applies to his legs. His legs are supernaturally enhanced, able to leap high into the air compared to a regular borrower.



Sean–

  * **Invisibility:**  Though the borrower does not make themselves actually invisible in most cases, the invisibility knack allows them to camouflage and blend in to their surroundings. In Sean’s case, he can cause a cloud of distortion that hides himself and any of his friends that stand close enough. 



 Bardolph–

  * _unknown_  



Xander–

  * _unknown_



Garen–

  * _unknown_



Harmony–

  * _unannounced_



Adriana of the Woods–

  * _unannounced_



Stan Baker’s brothers–

 

  * _unannounced for all_



* * *

If anyone has any questions, let me know!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of background following the last chapter of Bittersweet Parting, to sum up the most important revelations for everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> This is it! The final story of **Brothers Apart: Season 2**!
> 
> Brace.
> 
> No set schedule for posting once again.
> 
>  **Note on the stories** : **The Ties That Bind** and **Bittersweet Parting** are linked stories, much like Schism and Adventures, but just different enough to need to be separated into two parts. So they were written together as one part and later divided.


End file.
